


Those Who Wait

by oddcoupler222



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 239,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddcoupler222/pseuds/oddcoupler222
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa's ideas for her life were actually fairly simple: finish graduate school and fall in love. In that order and certainly no rush, given that she was barely out of the closet, a little wary from past experiences, and completely hopeless at talking to women. </p><p>Margaery's plan was much more concrete, with clear steps outlining her path to success and no time or inclination for romance. At least, not for years to come, until her career was well and truly established. Casual and discrete would be just fine with her until then. </p><p>However, the universe - in the form of a friend and a dating website - has other plans for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With A Little Help From My Friends

“If you’re waiting for a beautiful woman to come out of nowhere and sweep you off your feet, you’re going to be waiting forever,” Jeyne informed Sansa, as seriously as if she was reading it from a manual, from the other side of the breakfast bar in their apartment.

Sansa rolled her eyes, “I’m not waiting for _anyone_ to sweep me off of my feet.”

Maybe she had been, once upon a time. But that was a long time ago. Now, she knew that if she was to fall in love – as she one day hoped to – it would have to happen naturally. A smooth progression of feelings.

With that, she pushed herself off of the counter and turned to sit on the couch, balancing the bowl of cereal she was having for dinner on her lap. She could still feel her friend’s incredulous stare from the other side of the room.

“Sansa, you haven’t been in a relationship in almost two years; I don’t even remember the last time you went on a date! It was definitely over six months ago.”

“I’ve been busy,” she mumbled, even as she felt herself flush. It wasn’t like she _wasn’t_ busy; she was in grad school, and working as a teaching assistant along with all of her classes.

Jeyne quirked her eyebrow, “Everyone’s busy; we still manage to get laid every now and then,” she sent Sansa a lascivious grin, “And I _know_ you haven’t had any action in forever.”

Her cheeks burned even as she scoffed, but didn’t refute. Jeyne’s bedroom was right next to hers; she knew when Sansa spent the night with anyone.

Her friend flopped down onto the couch next to her with a sigh, “I’ll give you time off after being with Joffrey. He was nuts. But come on! You haven’t even gone out with _me_ just to have fun in months – you refused to come out to the bar tonight, even. And you’ve been like this ever since you had your whole _revelation_.”

Sansa could feel her cheeks burning annoyingly hotter and she knew she was as red as her hair as she shot Jeyne a glare, “I hate when you call it that. I just don’t want to go out; it has nothing to do with my… self-discovery.”

She hated that she didn’t have a better word to use.

“Yeah, well, you’re becoming a hermit. You’re sitting here on a Friday night, already in some pajama shorts, ready to… what, watch tv?” she gestured exaggeratedly toward the television before falling back against the cushion with a groan.

An unstoppable laugh escaped her, “Don’t be so dramatic. And I’m not going to watch a show, I’ll watch a movie.”

Jeyne ignored her comment, “Besides, I also don’t like that you spent months in a crisis about your sexuality, and when you finally come to terms with being bisexual, you won’t even go out and give it a try.”

“I don’t need to try anything out; I already know.” That, at least, was the absolute truth.

“Well, what’s the point in stepping out of the closet if you’re too much of a chicken shit to go on a date with a girl?” Jeyne looked genuinely quizzical, which made the sarcastic remark die on Sansa’s lips.

It was hard to describe, really.

Sansa _wasn’t_ in the closet. After a girl had made out with her in the club that Jeyne had dragged her to after finals last spring, Sansa had spent the summer agonizing over her sexuality. She’d never thought of herself as anything other than straight, before. Because she’d always liked boys, and she liked to kiss boys, and she liked the way they felt. Then there had been that kiss, and she’d liked that, too.

She’d _really_ liked it.

As the summer had gone on, Sansa finally admitted to herself that she liked girls, too. And she was still in the slow process of admitting it to others.

Others, meaning only Jeyne, her TA friend Mya, and Arya, but it was better than sitting with the information all on her own.

Biting her lip, she placed her bowl down on the table before she settled back and admitted, “I might be scared.”

Might be, as in the idea of going out with a woman made her stomach flip-flop so intensely she thought she might vomit. It was both fear and excitement, she knew, but… still.

Jeyne gave her a sympathetic look before she turned her attention to the phone in her lap, and Sansa was grateful that the subject seemed to be dropped. Not that she thought it would be dropped for long, considering she’d known Jeyne forever and when she got her teeth into something, she held on tight.

Sometimes that could be good for Sansa, though she hated to admit it. But sometimes she needed a push.

Tonight, though, she was happy to relax and watch a movie before she had to start her outline for the first paper of the semester that she had to write for her Valyrian Poetry class. Willfully ignoring the undeniably pitiful state of her love life.

“Done!” Jeyne announced a few minutes later.

Confused, Sansa turned to look at her, “Done with what?” And it was only as her question was ending that she realized Jeyne didn’t have her own phone in her hand, but Sansa’s. Blue eyes narrowed as suspicion set in, “What did you do?”

Her friend had a familiar bright-eyed devious look as she held Sansa’s phone up and wiggled it – but not close enough for Sansa to swipe it out of her hand, “I’m helping you out.”

She leaned in to see, “What the seven hells is that?”

But dread was already settling in her, even before Jeyne shrugged, “It’s a dating app. You’re welcome; you’ll be getting messages from hot girls in no time.”

For a moment, Sansa sat there, stunned into stillness. Before she lunged forward, hands out, grasping. Only for Jeyne to elude her, hopping off of the couch and running around the table, as she started tapping at the screen.

Sansa jumped up, demanding, “Give it back.”

But Jeyne shook her head, not moving her eyes from the screen, “If I give it back, you’ll never even browse.”

Blue eyes calculated the size of the coffee table. She had long legs; she could jump it.

It seemed Jeyne knew her too well, though, because she held her hands out in a peace offering gesture, “Look. I’ll give you the phone, if you promise me you won’t delete your profile, and you browse through some profiles. Maybe send a message or two to a lady that catches your eye.”

She only hesitated for a moment, but it was enough for Jeyne to latch on to. Still, she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, and her friend walked around the table to come stand in front of her.

Jeyne crossed her arms, her hand still securely holding onto Sansa’s cell phone, but her tone was considerably gentler than before, “Okay, since you didn’t jump me, I know that there is at least a _part_ of you that wants to try this out.”

There was no argument against it even in her head, because she _did_. There was that part of her that wanted to…

Even as nerves jangled in anxiety and excitement inside, she found herself nodding and reaching for her phone. As she wrapped her fingers around it, she shot Jeyne a look and cautioned, “Just to look.”

“Spoil sport,” Jeyne muttered before letting out a long suffering sigh, but released her phone anyway.

Sansa scoffed as she settled back onto the couch, cautiously looking at the website. She could feel her cheeks flush when she read the name of the site: _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ , “You’re kidding me.”

“It’s apparently a very reputable place!” Jeyne defended.

She shook her head, red hair falling over her shoulder and curtaining her from her friend’s excited gaze from the other side of the couch, then looked over the profile her friend had created for her. She’d – thankfully – chosen a photo that Sansa might have even chosen for herself. The rest was fairly simple: under her picture was a listing for her age, likes, and a message option.

_Sansa, 23, King’s Landing  
Likes: literature, dogs, snow, knitting, running, and lemon cakes _

Well, she couldn’t argue with any of that.

With a deep breath, she pressed the button in the top right corner that was beckoning her to _Browse profiles!_

The system was easy to navigate, though. And as she scrolled past a few profiles, her keyed up nerves started to settle. Not only had she never done this with girls before, but she’d never done something like this with boys.

Because they were easier to deal with; they were always… there. It was just that she hadn’t wanted to dip back into _that_ dating pool in quite some time. Women were harder. And, well, scarier.

This was maybe going to help her ease into it, though. It was somewhat comforting, knowing that all of these varieties of women were out there and just as not straight as she was. And maybe – potentially – possibly, interested in her.

The thought of it made her heart beat a little faster.

Before it stopped in her chest for a few beats upon her next swipe. Because the woman in the picture, coyly smiling up at her from her phone made her stomach erupt in butterflies. She had light brown hair perfectly tousled, and piercing eyes that Sansa swore were somehow seducing her through the screen.

She was well aware that there were some people who simply took pictures really well or photoshopped them in ways to look better, but… this girl was uniquely stunning any way she looked at it, and she couldn’t make herself move on to the next profile.

_Margaery, 26, King’s Landing  
Likes: puzzles, Dornish food, rainy days, designer shoes, dancing, and gardening_

It had something to do with that smile, she thought faintly. It was coquettish in a manner that was somehow sexy and… thoughtful. Utterly captivating.

“Oh, wow.”

Jeyne’s voice right next to her ear startled her, causing her to fumble her phone in her hands. Even though her heart was still pounding in her chest, she threw her friend a glare, “I thought you were going to give me time to look. On my own.”

Her friend rolled her eyes, “Well, I was. Then I noticed you were staring at someone, and I wanted to check. And now that I checked, I have to say – you need to message her.”

For a moment, the _Message_ option seemed to taunt her, and her mind ran amuck with the idea of seeing that face in person. Or even going on a date with her. Just a moment was enough for heart to race, but she quickly shook her head, “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? She’s hot, you’re hot. You need an introduction to the lady loving world, and she looks like she’d be a really good one,” her friend’s voice was so matter-of-the-fact that it almost didn’t make Sansa blush.

As it was, she glanced at Margaery’s picture again, before taking a deep breath and shaking her head again, “It’s not that easy; I don’t just want to hook up with someone, you know. And besides, she’s – I’m not – I mean, just look at her. She’s _stunning_! What am I going to say? _Hi, I’m a grad student who hasn’t even dated a woman yet, do you want to go out even though you can clearly date anyone else you want?_ ”

Jeyne was giving her the patented Sansa-is-being-unintentionally-amusing look that Sansa was well used to but couldn’t stand, before she burst out laughing, “Well, I wouldn’t exactly phrase it like that! Have some faith; it’s not like you’re chopped liver.”

“I know that,” she murmured before groaning and laying back against the couch, laying her phone in her lap, still open to Margaery’s profile, “But I’m not _that_.”

That… confident, sexy-smile, flirty-eyed, my-picture-alone-can-seduce-you, was definitely not her.

When Jeyne _hmm_ ’d, Sansa should have known her friend was letting her off the hook too easily. She _really_ should have known; it was practically her own fault when her phone was snatched from her lap.

She jumped to grab for it, but Jeyne was already moving her thumbs quickly over the screen.

“Jeyne Poole, give my phone back _now_ ,” she commanded, and she knew in the momentary pause of Jeyne’s typing that she did a pretty great job of channeling her mother’s reproachful tone.

Not good enough, though.

Blue eyes narrowed as determination to not be railroaded into something for the second time in one night rushed through her. And in a calculated leap, she closed the distance between them, grappling for her phone back.

It was fruitless, though. Because only a moment later, Jeyne cried out victoriously, “Sent!” as she pumped her fists over her head in celebration.

The sound that left the back of Sansa’s mouth was nearly feral, “You _didn’t_!”

“Of course I did,” Jeyne gave her a smile that showed no regrets, “Sansa, you need to get out of your shell.” She quirked an eyebrow, “Now, have you changed your mind about coming out with me tonight?”

The glare Sansa sent her was answer enough.

“Fine, fine. Suit yourself. Stay home and obsess about this magnificent Margaery.” Jeyne loosened her grip on Sansa’s phone, and Sansa grabbed at it.

Ignoring her friend getting up, Sansa frantically navigated her own profile to see her sent messages. And then just about died.

 ** _Sansa, 7:43PM_**  
_Hey, there. I saw your profile and you look_  
_really interesting – and hot. Do you want to_  
_~~hook up~~ meet up sometime?_

Horrified, she didn’t acknowledge Jeyne at all as her friend all but ran out of the apartment. Sansa didn’t think she could possibly blush more than she already was, and as low-key panic started to build, she quickly went back to Margaery’s profile to try and send another message.

Something where she would try to beg her to ignore Jeyne’s message that made Sansa out to be pleading for a freaking hook up.

As soon as she clicked the message option, a little note popped up, to inform her:

_For our users’ well-being, WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com does not allow multiple messages to be sent to a user unless they allow it upon receiving your first message._

What?!

Any other time, Sansa would have appreciated the step the website took steps to prevent forms of harassment. But not right now. Why couldn’t there be this one little exception?

With a groan, she brought her hand up to rub at her temples. It was futile to worry, right? Because there was nothing she could do, now. If Margaery humored Jeyne’s ridiculous message and answered back, Sansa would just explain the situation.

Peering again at the picture of the woman, she bit her lip as a small sigh escaped. Margaery was almost _too_ hot, if that was possible.

Which was a good thing, she reasoned with herself. She probably wasn’t even going to have to try to explain Jeyne and embarrass herself, because this woman – _Margaery –_ well, look at her. That girl was bound to have a ton of messages on here. She wouldn’t look twice at Sansa.

With that in mind, she put her phone face down on the table and tried to shake off the whole ordeal.

A couple of hours later found Sansa purposefully finishing Jeyne’s favorite ice cream, rooted to the same spot on the couch. Sansa herself wasn’t a big fan of the coffee flavor, but it was a small strike back against her friend for her earlier actions. She wasn’t going to go far enough to exact Arya-level revenge – Sansa still shuddered to think about some of the pranks her sister had played on her back at home – but Jeyne should know there would be several small acts of justice coming her way.

When her phone vibrated on the table, she assumed it was either Jeyne, trying to get her to come meet her and some of their friends, or Mya, her closest friend from university and her fellow TA. If not, then maybe a family member. She and her mother had been having a lively discussion about a novel they’d both read, Robb had been messaging with her about his upcoming wedding, and she had plans to meet up with Arya over the weekend. There were several expected options.

She _wasn’t_ expecting a notification from _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_.

The spoon she’d been holding clattered into the bowl as she hurriedly unlocked her phone and tapped on the notification, leading her to see **_New message!_** splayed on the screen.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head – she’d been so sure Margaery wouldn’t even have looked at her message. Or, maybe she hadn’t been sure, maybe she’d just been hopeful. Too hopeful, it seemed.

Nervously, she leaned forward to put her bowl on the table and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.

It didn’t work, and she clicked on the message anyway.

 ** _Margaery, 10:02PM_**  
_My, that is one of the less subtle approaches_  
_I’ve received on here, I must say._

Seven hells, why would Jeyne do this to her?

Immediately, spurred on by mortification, she answered.

 ** _Sansa, 10:05PM_**  
_Gods, I’m so sorry! I’ve been wanting to send_  
_this for hours, but couldn’t message you again_  
_until you answered. That’s not – I’m not the_  
_person who sent that first message! My friend_  
_created this account and sent that to you. I’m_  
_sorry, again. And dreadfully embarrassed._

Clasping her phone in her hand, she stared blankly at the movie on the television for a few moments. That was good, right? And now that Margaery knew the truth, Sansa really shouldn’t expect to hear from her again.

Which… was kind of disappointing, when she thought about it.

She nearly jumped when her phone vibrated again, and this time she didn’t hesitate to open the message, as curiosity – and maybe a bit of excitement – jolted through her.

 **_Margaery, 10:07PM_ **  
_I never said lack of subtly was a bad thing._    
_Perhaps in other matters, but not when it comes_    
_to this. So, your friend arranged this? Are you_    
_not a lady loving lady of Westeros, then?  
_

Sansa, being Sansa, tried to analyze every word, while also writing back quickly.

 **_Sansa, 10:08PM_ ** _  
Oh, I am. Yes. Well, kind of._

…what in the name of Stark was that? She berated herself, letting her head fall back against the couch.

 __ **Margaery, 10:10PM**  
_Kind of?_  


She tried to keep herself more coherent this time – she was a damn literature major, after all.

 **_Sansa, 10:12PM_ ** _  
I meant to say, that I like both men and women._

 __ **Margaery, 10:16PM**  
_You haven’t done this very much, have you?_  


Seriously, humiliating. Jeyne was going to pay for this in something more seriously than her favorite ice cream, now.

 **_Sansa, 10:18PM_ ** _  
No. Never, actually. Is it very obvious?_

Sansa rolled her eyes at herself; of course it was obvious. Otherwise Margaery wouldn’t have even asked. She only had a second to wonder why this woman was even still talking to her before she got an answer.

 **_Margaery, 10:19PM_    **  
_Only a little ;)_

Gods, what did _that_ mean? That winking face made her flush.

 **_Margaery, 10:22PM_    **  
_Tell me, why did your friend deem it necessary_    
_to create this account and send messages from_    
_you that seem to be more suggestive than you_    
_would like?  
_

**_Sansa, 10:27PM_ **  
_She thinks I need to get out more, I guess. And_  
_she thinks that I should, um, go out and hook_  
_up with someone._

 **_Margaery, 10:30PM_    **  
_And that’s not what you want?_

 **_Sansa, 10:34PM_ **  
_I – well, no. Not that I don’t want to ever meet_  
_someone, it’s just… I’m not wanting to go out_  
_and find a hook up just for the sake of hooking_  
_up. You know?_

 **_Margaery, 10:39PM_    **  
_Unfortunately, that is where you and I differ._    
_Which is a shame, I might add.  
_

Sansa’s eyes widened, as she triple-read that. Did Margaery mean what Sansa thought she meant? She had to, there was no other way to interpret that. After all, she realized with a pleasant swoop in her stomach, Margaery _had_ seen her profile and decided to write back.

For a moment, she thought about what that might mean. Entertained the idea that maybe this gorgeous woman had seriously been interested in hooking up with her – and to say it was a major rush was an understatement.

Then, the thoughts dissipated, because what that also meant was that Margaery was someone who – as Sansa was sure many women on this website were – only wanted a hook up. Which… Sansa really didn’t think she could do, no matter how ridiculously hot the woman’s picture was.

After a few moments of wondering whether or not she should just leave their interaction to end right then and there, because – well, she’d flat out said she didn’t want a hook up, and Margaery clearly did, so she couldn’t imagine the other woman wanting to keep wasting her time.

But…

Biting her lip, she was very grateful Jeyne wasn’t here to witness this, and she found enough courage to question.

 **_Sansa, 10:45PM_ ** _  
Do you? Do this very often, that is._

She wouldn’t have even been surprised if she didn’t get a response. Which was why she was shocked when she actually got an answer.

 **_Margaery, 10:48PM_    **  
_Are you insinuating something?_

Oh, Gods. See? This was why Sansa could never go out and meet a girl in real life; she couldn’t even talk to one online without putting her foot in her mouth.

 **_Sansa, 10:50PM_ **  
_No! No, no. I was asking because I was just,_  
_well, curious about how this usually happens?_

 **_Sansa, 10:51PM_ **  
_I mean, you seem… like you know what to do,_  
_in situations like this. Unlike me, clearly._

 **_Sansa, 10:52PM_ **  
_Gods, that was probably a very silly thing to_  
_ask. You can just ignore me._

 **_Margaery, 10:56PM_   **  
_Oh, dear girl. I don’t typically make it a point_  
_to reveal the inner-workings of my interactions on_    
_here, you know. A true lady shouldn’t reveal_    
_her secrets.  
_

**_Margaery, 10:57PM_    **  
_However, I could make an exception for a pretty_    
_woman in need. I only need to know one thing…  
_

Sansa’s heart beat just a bit faster at that, as she flushed and bit her lip. _A pretty woman in need_. She knew she’d been correct in wondering if Margaery had done this before; she definitely knew what to say to make Sansa lap up every word.

 **_Sansa, 10:58PM_ ** _  
Which is?_

 **_Margaery, 11:02PM_    **  
_Just to be completely clear, there is no chance_    
_of you being interested in – as your first message_    
_said – a hook up? Because I absolutely cannot_    
_abide showing my hand in that case.  
_

Sansa hesitated before she answered as her mind took her words and ran with them for a few heavy moments. She thought of being that kind of person, who could go out and _hook up_ with a gorgeous stranger and have that be it. No feelings involved. She was so very nervous about her first _everything_ with a woman that maybe having sex with a stranger and getting it over with would be easier.

But, that wasn’t her, even if she thought it might be nice if it was, in this case. And sometimes, she’d learned, easier was not always better.

 ** _Sansa, 11:05PM_**  
_I can confirm that I don’t think I will be prepared  
to hook up with anyone any time soon. _

**_Margaery, 11:09PM_    **  
_Well, then, disappointed as I may be, I am now_    
_willing to answer what you’d like to know. Do_    
_you have specific questions in mind?  
_

Sansa bit her lip indecisively as she wondered what exactly to ask. Or, more precisely, what was okay to ask.

 **_Sansa, 11:11PM_ ** _  
Do you only use this website for hooking up?_

She regretted it as soon as she sent it. Why would she think it was all right to ask that to this random woman? Apparently, though, Margaery had no problem with Sansa’s rather personal question.

 ** _Margaery, 11:13PM_**    
_Yes. Though in the name of honesty, I am_  
_always upfront about my not-serious intentions._

 **_Sansa, 11:16PM_ ** _  
Okay. But what happens then?_

 **_Margaery, 11:18PM_    **  
_I do hope you aren’t asking me to explain the_    
_proverbial birds and the bees, sweet girl. I was_    
_under the impression you wanted this to be PG ;)  
_

Blue eyes widened and she was hasty to correct her – by no means did she intend for this to become a makeshift first time foray into dirty messages. Well, first time for her. She had her doubts about Margaery.

 ** _Sansa, 11:19PM_**  
_No! No, I know how… that… works. I meant,_  
_like, how do you go about doing all of this? When_  
_a woman messages you, what happens then?_

 ** _Margaery, 11:22PM_**    
_Well, it’s all fairly straightforward, no pun_    
_intended. We chat a bit here and make plans to_    
_meet up. Typically at a bar or perhaps a club –_    
_always somewhere public. We spend a bit of time_    
_out to make sure we’re… compatible. And from_    
_there, I see if they’d like to go back to my place_    
_for the night.  
_

__**Margaery, 11:22PM**  
_Not to boast, but they usually do._  


**_Sansa, 11:23PM_ ** _  
Oh, I can imagine._

Sansa stilled after she sent the message. She hadn’t even hesitated to reply with her first initial thought, and she squeezed her eyes closed tightly as she sank back into the couch.

 **_Margaery, 11:25PM_    **  
_That was smoother than I expected. Offense_    
_entirely unintended.  
_

**_Sansa, 11:27PM_**  
_None taken, as it was actually inadvertently  
done. _

**_Margaery, 11:30PM_    **  
_You’re an interesting woman. Unfortunately,_    
_however, it is getting late, and I must be getting_    
_to bed. I’ve an early morning tomorrow.  
_

The disappointment she felt was swift and unexpected; she’d enjoyed talking to Margaery more than she thought she would. At least it wasn’t a _complete_ disaster; Margaery seemed to be amused by her if nothing else.

But she could do with getting to bed as well, she realized as she stifled a yawn. She had to grade the first assignments of the semester for her professor by Monday, plus her own paper to start working on, as well as going to see Arya.

 **_Sansa, 11:33PM_ **  
_I don’t think I’m quite as interesting as you_  
_are. But I should be going, too. Thank you, for_  
_this. You know, not mocking me like you_  
_undoubtedly could have._

 **_Margaery, 11:35PM_    **  
_That’s not really my style. But it was more_    
_entertaining for me than I might have anticipated._    
_Goodnight, Sansa.  
_

**_Sansa, 11:36PM  
_ ** _Goodnight, Margaery_


	2. A Pretty Woman In Need

“As everyone here already knows, we’re celebrating tonight that one of our very own from here in the Department for the People will be announcing her campaign for the soon-to-be-vacant spot on the small council!” Renly proclaimed, holding up a glass of champagne, as he made eye contact with her from across the room.

Margaery shook her head slightly, even as a pleased grin tugged at her lips. She’d halfheartedly asked Renly to refrain from making a toast, but she couldn’t deny that she got a little thrill from it all.

“Though we will be inevitably sad to see her go, I can think of no one else who should be better suited to the position. Margaery, I speak for myself and on behalf of the department, when I say that we support you and believe in you unequivocally. So, though it means you’ll be leaving us at the end of it all, here’s to a successful campaign!”

He lifted his glass, cheerfully followed by the myriad of others, who joined in with shouts and claps in her direction. She accepted them all with a nod and a smile, lifting her glass to them before taking a sip.

The entirety of their government office was there, joined by a few stragglers of the Health Department from the offices next door. It wasn’t often that they held a celebratory party – alcohol included – in their actual office in the Red Keep, but Renly had deemed it a special occasion. As soon as the clock hit six, and the majority of the other departments had left for the evening, the alcohol had been broken out.

That had been only an hour ago, and the majority of her coworkers were already on their way to being drunk.

Renly made his way toward her, lightly brushing off the cuffs of his suit. Despite the fact that it was after-hours, the head of the department detested being seen as less than pristine. Even at a party.

She quirked an eyebrow toward him, a playful smile on her mouth, “That was quite a touching speech.”

As always, he didn’t respond to her teasing, and merely have her a half-grin in response, “I believe the words you’re looking for are _thank you_.”

She laid her hand that didn’t have a light hold on her champagne flute on his arm, “Thank you.”

Despite her banter, she meant it. Renly Baratheon had been her boss for several years now, and in those years, he had become one of the people in her life that she was closest to. Someone she could trust.

He was someone she admired, someone she was proud to work for, someone she’d learned from. Someone who managed to maintain her respect, even after she’d seen him come running out of her brother’s apartment in nothing but striped boxers when there had been a sighting of a mouse. That alone was a feat to be proud of.

Renly was a true friend, one of the only she’d made thus far in the game of politics.

It was why she’d been somewhat reluctant and even nervous to tell him about her plans to campaign for the empty seat on the small council. Though she knew he wouldn’t do anything underhanded, she felt somewhat guilty that she was aiming to leave their department. She’d told him only a few days ago, because she could not stand that feeling of nerves in her stomach; it was not a feeling she was familiar with, and she’d wanted to be rid of it as soon as possible.

Despite the uncertainty she’d felt about it all, Renly’s response had been nothing but positive. And, if she was being honest, it had been almost disappointing in that he hadn’t been surprised at all by her decision.

“What? Did you think _I_ thought you’d stay in our little corner of the world forever? You should know better,” he’d told her when she’d informed him that she thought he would have been a little more shocked.

It did make sense, she supposed. Margaery _did_ love the work she was doing now; of the many departments in the Red Keep that kept the government running, the Department for the People was the one Margaery had always felt was essential to a well-functioning government. It was, after all, the people who really mattered in this job; their rights and well-being.

Despite her love of her current position, however, it was only a footnote in the grand plan she had for her future. And someone like Renly, who knew her so well, knew very well what her plan was.

She’d been in politics since she’d graduated from university four years ago. Even before that, she’d had countless internships in various departments of the Red Keep throughout college. And she’d been _interested_ in politics – the rise and fall and the rush and the adrenaline – since she was a child.

How could she not be, when her family was so deeply rooted in it all? She couldn’t have grown up with the first female Prime Minister of Westeros as her grandmother without being dramatically influenced.

Margaery planned to follow in her grandmother’s footsteps since she truly understood what it was that her grandmother did. She intended to be voted as the Prime Minister of the country, and she intended for it to happen at a younger age than it had happened for her grandmother. And the next step for her to take, was to work on the small council – a group of ten men and women appointed by democratic vote, who served as a committee for law-making decisions with the Prime Minister. There was no other position that could prepare her better for her envisioned future.

With a deep breath, she took another sip of champagne. She could feel a pleasant buzz from it, even as she nudged Renly with her shoulder to get his attention, “You’d better make an even better speech if I win the seat, and will actually be leaving the department. I expect some tears to fall.”

He lifted his eyebrows in question, “ _If_? Where is the confident Margaery I know and tolerate?”

“The Margaery you know and _love_ , you brat,” she lightly elbowed him, smiling despite herself at his chuckle, before she continued, “And perhaps you should get your glasses, as I am right here. Confident in my abilities, yet realistic about the odds,” she corrected mildly.

She _was_ confident that she would put up a good fight for the small council seat. Confident that she had a very real chance at winning the election for it; she wouldn’t go forward with the time and energy it was going to take to run a campaign, otherwise.

However, she also kept in mind that should she win this seat, she would become the youngest person to serve on the council, let alone the youngest woman. As it was still early, it was also unclear as to who she would be running against. Those were two variables that had the potential to either work in her favor or against her.

The seat had opened up unexpectedly a week and a half ago, upon the untimely death of Jon Arryn, whose council seat wasn’t supposed to be up for re-election for another two years, along with four other members of the small council. Margaery’s plan had been to campaign for one of the five seats up for election two years from now.

Yet, despite the fact that she was young and that she wasn’t as prepared as she would have been for a campaign two years from now, she couldn’t deny that this move felt like it would be the best thing for her. She knew without a doubt that she would be able to hold her own against anyone who underestimated her.

“Well, in the chance that you do not win the seat, I’ll try not to celebrate too much,” Renly informed her as he reached down to the table next to them to pour himself a glass of wine.

Slightly confused, and more than slightly offended, she turned to face him, “Celebrating my loss? What happened to those pretty words of support from only minutes ago?”

He shot her a look of apology, “I _do_ support you, of course. But when you leave, whether it be in six months after this election or in a few years, both myself and the department will be losing a big asset.”

Relaxing, she shook her head with a smirk, “You choose the most roundabout ways in order to tell me you’ll miss me,” she finished, lightly squeezing his forearm. Renly rolled his eyes at her, but brought his hand up to squeeze hers lightly in return.

After a few moments, he tilted his head toward their coworkers, who were milling about. Some dancing, some just chatting. All seemed to be having a good time, though she supposed, of course they would be. Free food and drinks, supplied by their boss, who was letting loose at the office in a celebration that didn’t have to do with anything unfortunate happening to precede it.

“Now, come and partake in the festivities. This party is in your honor, after all,” Renly handed her another flute of champagne, before stepping slightly away to gallantly offer her his arm.

It was things like that, she knew, that had made rumors buzz about the two of them. Predominantly in her earlier years of working in the department, though there were still a few people who didn’t entirely believe they were only platonic.

Margaery knew that was one of the side-effects of keeping her sexuality a topic that she did not discuss at work and, as a result, talk like that – about her love life and any male friendships she kept – would be speculated about the more she rose in the political ranks.

However, she also knew that a bit of speculation and wonder, as long as there truly was nothing salacious being hidden, was an angle that would prove to be beneficial in her burgeoning career. And she certainly had no scandalous tales involving men of any kind to be hidden.

With that in mind, she bit back a small sigh as she fixed a smile on and shook her head, “I have to grab something from my desk, first. I’ll be out there and asking you for a dance soon, though.”

Renly started to unbutton his cuffs and crisply start to roll them up as he gave her a nod and a small smile, “We’ll see if you can keep up.”

Her mouth fell open in mock-offense, “Excuse you. Historically, only one of us ever needs assistance on the dance floor, and it’s not me.”

He walked away with a wink that made her chuckle under her breath, before Margaery made her way to her desk. It was far enough away from the center of the office that the festivities were not in her immediate area, which she was thankful for.

Brown eyes scanned for people as she took her phone out of her purse, and the sigh that she’d bitten back was now released. She unlocked the device, and scrolled until she got to the app that had been on her mind for days now.

_WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ had served her very well in the past few years. She’d first joined when she’d been fresh out of college, and looking for a way to find women who wouldn’t know her on a personal level. Who didn’t know Margaery Tyrell, future hopeful politician. Looking for women who wanted the same thing she did: a nice, discreet hookup before moving on.

Margaery knew that she already had a long road ahead of her if she was to accomplish her goals, and that road had enough obstacles. She had no intention of adding the fact that she was a lesbian into the mix. As far as she was concerned, it was unnecessary. Her sexuality had nothing to do with her ambitions.

Especially given that she had no intention of entertaining a so-called “love life” in the near future, regardless of the gender she was interested in. She prided herself on being able to read people, and it didn’t take a genius to see that people could make foolish decisions when their hearts were involved, rather than only their heads. Margaery intended to stay clear- and level-headed for her time in office, whether that office be small councilmember or Prime Minister, or even Assistant Director of the Department for the People.

She reached for the glass of champagne and took a few sips, enjoying the expensive taste and the fact that Renly rarely forewent quality, before she tapped on the app.

She’d found many a pleasurable night because of this website, and if she was being entirely honest, she didn’t _want_ to give it up. However, it was in her own best interest. Now that she’d unofficially announced her intention to run for the small council, the ball was rolling. Within the next few weeks, she would officially begin her campaign, and her name would start to garner more public interest.

Depending on who would be opposing her, Margaery had to be prepared for them to dig up anything, even her profile on a gay dating website. Though she would miss the hookups, they were not worth jeopardizing her dreams.

Last Friday, she had resolved to herself that she would run for the election and she’d decided then that she had to delete the profile. That was when she’d seen that she had a message from a woman whose profile she’d never come across before.

The girl with the red hair spilling over her shoulder in long waves, with startlingly blue eyes lit up with a bright, candid smile that revealed straight white teeth. It was a picture that was clearly snapped while the redhead had been in mid-laugh; a genuine photo, where Margaery could see the flush of laughter on pale cheeks, and she’d almost been able to _hear_ a giggle through her phone.

Margaery had scrolled through what must have amounted to thousands of profiles over the years, and had messaged and met up with a good amount of them. She’d seen stunning women, women who were gorgeous both in and out of their pictures. The girl – Sansa – was someone she would put into that gorgeous category, but she’d liked that she looked so… open. Accessible.

She was positive Sansa had to have pictures stored away where those blue eyes looked smoky and seductive or those plump lips could be pouting and tempting, and – entirely honestly – Margaery would have been just as taken by her picture in that case. It just seemed like an exciting bonus that rather than go that route, which was the one people chose most often, the picture Sansa had used was also a picture that somehow captured a piece of who she was.

So, even though she’d intended to delete her account that night, she’d been extremely pleasantly surprised to see the message proposing a hookup from the pretty redhead. It couldn’t hurt, she supposed to have one last _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ hurrah. It would be almost symbolic, in a way.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d said that she’d been a bit disappointed about the fact that it hadn’t actually been Sansa herself who’d proposed said hookup. But she _had_ been surprised at the fact that she’d found herself a bit charmed by Sansa herself.

A bit awkward, a lot amusing, adorably naïve, almost alarmingly honest.

Shaking her head, she tapped her inbox. There were three new messages since she’d checked the app the previous afternoon, and as the first two popped up, she debated reading them for a few seconds, her thumb hesitating over them… before she hit delete, instead. Tonight was the night that she _actually_ had to delete this little portion of her life.

However, the third message popped up, and she paused in surprise. Truthfully, the last thing she had expected was for there to be another message from Sansa in her inbox.

Despite the fact that she’d only opened the app in order to delete it, her curiosity got the best of her, and she couldn’t resist opening it.

**_Sansa, 4:24PM_**    
_Hi, it’s just me, again. Obviously. I just wanted_    
_to say thank you, again, for humoring me the_    
_other night.  
_

Quirking an eyebrow, Margaery looked around her once more. When she was satisfied to see that no one was particularly interested in what she was doing, she turned her attention back to her phone. She had no idea what it was about Sansa’s seemingly earnest thanks that made her endearing, but she found herself answering anyway.

**_Margaery, 7:06PM_**  
_As I said, I’m always happy to talk to a pretty_  
_woman in need. I’ll admit, I’m a bit surprised_  
_to see you still here._

She’d somewhat expected Sansa to have deleted her profile after having been so flustered about its existence.

Even though Sansa’s message had been sent a few hours ago, Margaery had a tiny kernel of hope that she’d answer back as quickly as she had on Friday. Especially because she had an inkling that Sansa hadn’t messaged her _just_ because she’d wanted to say thanks, again, four days later.

She nearly jumped – would have, if she hadn’t had a lot of practice at maintaining her composure over the years – when she felt two hands land on her shoulders, and a familiar voice ask in her ear, “And who is that?”

Quickly, she locked her phone, even as she felt herself grinning widely, “Loras!”

She spun in her seat to face her brother, who was still in his police officer uniform, a wide smile on his face. His thumbs were tucked into his belt, a knowing smirk on his face that she knew was very similar to her own, brown curls hanging over his forehead. He gestured to her phone, “Another one of your ladies?”

She only had a split-second pause before she shrugged, “Something like that. Tell me, officer, what are you doing here?”

“Well, you’re breaking the law, you know. We _are_ in the Red Keep, the epicenter of our government, and I’ve heard a rumor that there is an obscene amount of alcohol on the premises,” Loras shifted back on his heels, “I don’t want to make this into a big deal, but…”

Standing up, she shook her head in adoration as she tucked her arm through his, “I don’t suppose an esteemed police officer such as yourself can be swayed with the promise of indulging in said alcohol.” She stood on her tiptoes and leaned in a bit to whisper in his ear, “Or with the promise to go home with a slightly inebriated department head who is currently enjoying himself on the makeshift dance floor.”

Her brother’s eyes lit up and sought out Renly, who was indeed dancing – and somehow managing to still look well put-together – and he murmured, “I think I might be able to be persuaded.”

“I thought so,” she laughed quietly, and led him to the desk that was acting as a bar, “How did you find out about this little party?”

“I received a little message from the dancing queen,” he informed her, and they shared a smile, as they reached the liquor, and he reached out for a bottle. He looked at her over the top, “I bet grandmother is thrilled that her little flower is following in her footsteps earlier than expected.”

His tone was teasing, but with an underlying seriousness that she might have missed if she hadn’t known him so well. He wasn’t wrong, though. Their grandmother had praised her efforts and her plan to run now rather than later, especially given that she scorned half of the current small councilmembers, calling them idiots – and far worse.

Still, she rolled her eyes at him, “Shush, you know she’s proud of all of us.”

The exasperated look Loras gave her made her throw her head back in laughter.

“She called me a trained monkey with a gun last Christmas,” he replied dourly, which only spurred on her laughter.

“That’s just her way of showing love, darling. You know that,” she grinned up at him, before accepting the glass of Dornish red he poured and offered to her.

He continued to grumble for a moment, before he sobered, clinking his glass with hers, “Well, you already have my vote. I think you’ll have it in the bag, little sister.”

“We’ll see,” she murmured back, but couldn’t deny herself the rush she got at the words. She’d had the feeling that her future was truly starting since last Friday, when she’d decided to run. Tonight was only strengthening that feeling.

Loras tipped his head back and finished his wine, before placing his glass on the table, and grinning down at her, “Now, lead me toward the dance floor.”

A few hours later, Margaery was still grinning as she let herself into her apartment. She wasn’t drunk, but pleasantly buzzed and tired, and she had Loras and Renly’s goodnight calls still ringing in her ears. They’d walked her back to her apartment, all of them in fairly high spirits, and she’d stood back to watch the two of them walk down the sidewalk, walking close but careful to not be _too_ close.

There were times when Margaery felt that she was luckier than her brother and Renly. While Renly wasn’t as secretive about his sexuality as she was when it came to work, he was still private enough to keep from dancing with Loras in front of their coworkers. She was lucky, because unlike her brother and her boss, she didn’t have the inclination to be in a relationship. She didn’t have someone to make eyes at from across the room, while being unable to dance with them, to really _be_ with them.

But even so, they were adorable. While Margaery didn’t find herself longing for what they shared – the familiarity, the intimacy, the going home together not just for sex but to _sleep_ – right now, she could appreciate it. And perhaps sometime in the distant future, she would find the same for herself.

To find it for herself after she’d accomplished all of her actual dreams.

For now, though, she just needed to find her bed.

She dropped her purse on the counter, keys on the hook right next to it, before she started to take off her light jacket. As she made her way into her bedroom, she felt her pocket buzz. Blearily, she pulled out her phone, placing it on her dresser, as she pulled off her fitted dress pants. Once she was stripped down to her bra and underwear, she reached for her phone again.

Much of her grogginess disappeared when she saw that it wasn’t a text from Loras, as she’d expected, but instead a **_New Message!_** She’d nearly forgotten that she’d messaged Sansa earlier, before the drinking and the dancing.

She quickly opened the message, curiosity once again getting the best of her.

**_Sansa, 11:13PM_**    
_I’m actually a bit surprised that I’m still here,_    
_too. I’ve told Jeyne I deleted it, out of spite.  
_

Margaery leaned back against the dresser, shaking her head at herself – because she’d meant to delete her own damn account _again_ tonight, yet, here she was. It didn’t stop her from responding.

**_Margaery, 11:17PM_ ** _  
Jeyne?_

**_Sansa, 11:20PM_**    
_Oh, right. Jeyne is my roommate and friend, who_    
_created this account for me. I want her to suffer.  
_

She grinned, and wished – not for the first time, clearly – that Sansa would be interested in something casual. It wasn’t like she was hurting for a hookup, but she enjoyed that thing about Sansa that rang… unique. Certainly unique to any of her other interactions on a dating website, because most of the women she encountered were more like herself.

**_Margaery, 11:22PM_ **  
_More devious than I might have expected of_  
_you, sweet girl._

**Sansa, 11:25PM**    
_She created this profile and messaged girls –_    
_well, girl, you know, you – asking to hook up,_    
_on my behalf!_

It was that picture, she decided. Sansa’s picture with her mid-laugh and so animated, that made it so easy for Margaery to imagine this righteous indignation. It was enough to make her chuckle.

**_Margaery, 11:28PM_ **  
_That’s true. She got both of our hopes up; you_  
_should make her suffer as much as possible._

**_Sansa, 11:31PM_**    
_Exactly. Um, I’m sorry for writing back to you so_    
_late. I hope I didn’t wake you up.  
_

There was that feeling again. The feeling that Sansa had something to say beyond what she was actually saying, and Margaery wanted to know what it was.

**_Margaery, 11:35PM_ **  
_Don’t worry, I was out late doing something for_  
_work. I’m usually up this late, anyway._

She didn’t typically like to go in to that much detail about her personal life with women on here, not even mentioning work at all. Though she’d never not been hooking up with one before, either, so she supposed that was already something she was unused to with Sansa.

**_Sansa, 11:37PM_**    
_I don’t really stay up late, usually. I’m much more_    
_of a morning person. But my sister is going away_    
_soon, and she has horrible sleeping habits, so I was_    
_with her tonight.  
_

**_Sansa, 11:38PM_**    
_I realize that you didn’t need or probably want_    
_any details about my sister. I apologize for that.  
_

Stifling a yawn, Margaery let out a breathed out a laugh. She was just so strangely amused by her; she couldn’t help it. Margaery had talked to a plethora of women on here, but no one had this approach.

Perhaps it was because Sansa actually _didn’t_ have any approach.

**_Margaery, 11:41PM_ **  
_You have nothing to apologize for. And while I_  
_don’t mind knowing your sleeping habits, or even_  
_a few details about your sister, I have a sneaking_  
_suspicion that you didn’t message me to tell me_  
_either of those things. Feel free to tell me whatever_  
_it is. I don’t bite._

**_Margaery, 11:42PM_ **  
_Unless you’ve changed your mind about that_  
_very first message, that is ;)_

She couldn’t resist, and she put her phone back down before making her way into the bathroom. After doing an abbreviated version of her nightly routine – only cleaning off her makeup, washing her face, brushing her teeth, because she was, actually, fairly tired – she made her way back to her room.

Stripping off her bra and underwear now, she pulled on a tank top and a pair of shorts before reaching for her phone once more and crawling into bed. She was unsurprised to see that she had multiple messages from Sansa.

**_Sansa, 11:45PM_**    
_Oh. I haven’t changed my mind about, um, you_  
_know, hooking up. But – you are right._

**_Sansa, 11:46PM_**    
_The thing is, I really was going to delete my profile._    
_I keep telling myself that I should. I mean, you’re_    
_the only woman I’ve talked to on here, and you’re –_    
_well, you.  
_

Confused, she was unsure if that was meant as a good or a bad thing, and she adjusted the covers around herself before she wrote back.

**_Margaery, 11:58PM_ **  
_Well, I’m certainly me, but I’m unsure of what_  
_exactly you mean by that._

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

**Sansa, 12:00AM**    
 _I just meant that – you are clearly gorgeous_  
_and you can flirt without being weird, at all._    
_Even when I know I’ve said something stupid,_    
_you make it seem like not a big deal._

So, it was a good thing, then. Margaery felt a warmth spread through her at Sansa's casual mention of finding her gorgeous. Margaery knew she was attractive, of course, she prided herself on self-awareness. She also knew that many other women found her good looking. But it was the casual, unassuming way Sansa just _said_ it, without any expectations, that made this warmth take hold. Sansa knew how to make herself even more endearing without even trying, Margaery decided. She had her own brand of charm that she didn’t properly know how to use. And she knew that if it worked for her, it would work for others.

And, gods, she regretted that hitting on Sansa even more would most likely prove to be futile.

**_Margaery, 12:02AM_ **  
_Enough about me, charmer. Why do you think_  
_that you should delete your profile?_

Though, she was one to talk. As she _really_ did need to delete this.

**_Sansa, 12:05AM_**    
_Because I can’t talk to women! You should already_    
_know that better than anyone.  
_

Once more, she imagined that pretty face flushing with indignation, and she could see it so clearly in her head that it made her smile. Even so, she yawned and shook her head as she wrote back.

**Margaery, 12:08AM**  
_Don’t underestimate yourself. You can hold your_  
_own. Besides, the beginning of online dating can be_  
_strange for everyone. Just settle into it._

She felt the need to add the second message when she recalled some of the comments the redhead had made the other night, that had been a bit strange. Strange in a way that made her more interesting to Margaery, but still.

**_Sansa, 12:11AM_    **  
_That’s the thing, though. It’s not just… that._

**_Sansa, 12:11AM_    **  
_It’s not just online, I mean._

It took her sleepy mind a few seconds to connect the dots. But when she did, she sat up a bit, intrigued.

**_Margaery, 12:13AM_ ** _  
Have you never been with a woman, sweetling?_

**_Sansa, 12:16AM_**    
_Well… no. I made out with one. Once. Or, she_    
_made out with me. But I was a participant.  
_

Margaery dropped her head back into her pillow, groaning as she shut her eyes to curse… someone. Something. This whole situation. Because there was this beautiful woman who was clearly interested in exploring her sexuality, and Margaery could be just the person Sansa needed. For one night.

Which was the opposite of what Sansa actually wanted. Though they’d only spoken for such a short time, she knew that Sansa wanted the emotional connection that Margaery had never been particularly wanting or missing.

With a deep breath that she used to push out her lingering want, before writing back.

**_Margaery, 12:20AM_ ** _  
Do you want to know what I think?_

**_Sansa, 12:22AM_    **  
_I’m not sure._

_**Sansa, 12:23AM**  
_ _But, yes._

A sleepy smile fixed itself on her face, amusement settling in her stomach.

**Margaery, 12:26AM**  
_I think that you not deleting this profile means_  
_that despite the fact that you’re nervous and_  
_despite the fact that you’re unhappy that your_  
_friend Jeyne forced you into this, you want to_  
_be here._

She reached over to her nightstand to plug in her phone, resting it on her chest as she leaned back once more. She did need to get to sleep – she did have work in the morning, after all – but she’d never had this sort of actual conversation with a woman on here. Which was her own doing, as she didn’t want to complicate her sex life and turn anything personal.

But she was enjoying it, enjoying the fact that even though she wasn’t going to be hooking up with Sansa, they could have a real conversation. She didn’t actually have many honest conversations, at all, aside from with her family members and Renly.

**_Sansa, 12:28AM_    **  
_I think you’re probably right._

**_Margaery, 12:31AM_ ** _  
I usually am, darling ;)_

She put her phone down on her stomach and leaned back into her pillows with a comfortable sigh.

The next thing Margaery knew, the alarm on her phone was blaring from where it rested on her stomach. Brown eyes blinked open, and as she groaned. Six in the morning came a lot faster than she ever wanted it to.

She brought up one hand to rub at her eyes, reaching down to shut off the alarm. When she noticed that she had five messages from _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_.

Not even entirely awake yet, she opened them anyway.

**_Sansa, 12:35AM_**    
_I just don’t really know even what to say to start_  
_talking to someone. Or even what to look for,_  
_you know?  
_

**_Sansa, 12:37AM_**    
_Because I’m sure that there are more woman_    
_than not who are more or less only looking for_    
_something casual, like you.  
_

**_Sansa, 12:38AM_**    
_And it’s not like I should just come out and ask_    
_“hey, what are you looking for?”  
_

**_Sansa, 12:38AM_    **  
_Can I?_

**_Sansa, 12:46AM_**    
_Oh, gods. This is even more mortifying than our_    
_first interaction, I think. Please ignore me, now.  
_

Margaery was instantly more awake now, as she found herself chuckling. She didn’t know how many other people she’d ever found so easily entertaining. She didn’t know how many people sent four messages in a row in a ramble before realizing that the other person wasn’t there. Certainly no one who texted her.

She gathered her hair over her shoulder and sat up.

**_Margaery, 6:05AM_ ** _  
You shouldn’t feel mortified; I fell asleep._

Tossing her phone onto the blankets next to her, she stretched. And then stared in amazement when her phone buzzed back.

**_Sansa, 6:07AM_    **  
_That’s a relief._

She wasn't sure whether to continue to be amused or to be actually concerned that this girl appeared to have been awake all night. Awake and... anxious about having sent Margaery so many messages?

**_Margaery, 6:09AM_ ** _  
Do you sleep?_

**_Sansa, 6:12AM_**    
_Of course! I  just woke up, actually. But I told you that_  
I’m a morning _person. Besides, I have a few things to  
do this __morning._

With a disbelieving shake of her head, she wrote back quickly, pulling on her past experiences, before leaving her phone on her bed to decide what to wear for the day.

**_Margaery, 6:15AM_ **  
_Well, on the topic of the messages you sent while_  
_I was sleeping, I’ll say that you can ask women_  
_what they are looking for. But there are other_  
_things you can look for, too. Little clues on their_  
_profiles that can indicate what they’re after._

**_Sansa, 6:19AM_    **  
_Can I ask you something that might be a bit odd?_

**_Margaery, 6:21AM_**  
_In all honesty, you’ve said several things that are  
a bit odd, and we’re still talking. So, go ahead. _

She smirked, and had a strange feeling of anticipation as she went to shower. It was quick, as she was feeling a little sluggish still, and she wrapped her towel around herself to make her way back into the bedroom.

After quickly getting dressed, she left her hair tied up in its towel to dry before reaching for her phone once more to see what “odd” thing Sansa wanted to ask.

**_Sansa, 6:24AM_**    
_You’re right. Sorry, about all of that. But… maybe_    
_I could talk to you about profiles when I think_    
_perhaps I’ll message the girl? Or if I’m in a small_    
_panic or have said something really dumb, maybe_    
_I could talk to you about it? Kind of like a mentor_    
_type thing. Only, not as weird as it sounds.  
_

**_Sansa, 6:25AM_**    
_Gods, I know how weird it is. Believe me, I do._    
_But, you said yourself that you have a lot of_    
_experience on here.  
_

**_Sansa, 6:26AM_    **  
_Actually, forget that I asked, please._

Margaery had to read all of the messages over twice before it truly dawned on her what Sansa was asking. If she could help Sansa find her… princess charming on the website. She found herself laughing, trying to contain her giggles. Not that she found Sansa herself laughable – no, she was adorable – but the idea that _Margaery_ , of all people, was being asked to help find someone romance.

She just had to take a moment to let it really sink in.

**_Margaery, 6:50AM_ **  
_Dear girl, take a deep breath. I would be remiss_  
_to say that I wasn’t intrigued by your proposal._

It surprised even herself how interested she was as to where that would lead, that much was true.

**_Margaery, 6:51AM_ **  
_However, I would be even more remiss, if I didn’t_  
_inform you that I plan on deleting this account, for_  
_personal reasons. Very soon, in fact._

_**Sansa, 6:55AM**  
_ _Oh. Okay._

**_Sansa, 6:56AM_**    
_You’re not deleting your account because I’m_    
_coming off like a stalker or something, right?_    
_Because I swear to you, I’m just a little awkward_    
_sometimes.  
_

Oh, it was all too good. Margaery was hard-pressed to remember the last time she’d been so… amused. She quickly typed back.

**_Margaery, 6:59AM_ **  
_Someone certainly thinks highly of herself ;)_

**_Margaery, 7:01AM_ **  
_But, please, don’t worry. It’s truly not you. I’ve_  
_actually quite enjoyed our conversations._  
_Surprisingly so._

She took her phone with her as she made her way into the kitchen. As always, she was grateful for her timed coffee maker, and she poured herself a large mug with a grin. She heard her phone go off as she stirred in her cream and sugar, giving herself a moment to arrange it just the way she liked before she checked her message and sat at her counter.

**_Sansa, 7:04AM_**    
_Good. I enjoy them, too. Rather, enjoyed them._    
_When are you deleting your account? If you don’t_    
_mind my asking.  
_

Margaery sighed, a strange feeling of regret settling in her stomach as she took a sip from her coffee. She, weirdly, enjoyed Sansa. She enjoyed her honesty and her naivety when it came to this dating world she’d stepped in to, however unwillingly.

**_Margaery, 7:08AM_ **  
_Today, actually. I should have done it last night,_  
_but I had a titillating conversation happening._

**_Sansa, 7:10AM_**    
_Oh. I’m sorry. I’m not sure if this is strange to_    
_say, but you’ve already pointed out that I’ve said_    
_quite a few strange things already, so: I’ve liked_    
_talking to you, and I kind of wish you would be_    
_around to give me advice.  
_

Drumming her fingers on the countertop, she continued to drain her coffee, as the idea struck her. She wasn’t fond of giving personal information out to women on here, but… it wasn’t as though Sansa was a woman who she’d been meeting up with at a club and taking home, only to never see again after the next day. And besides, once she thought about it a bit more, she was a little concerned for Sansa. She clearly trusted Margaery, and luckily for Sansa, that trust wasn't misguided with her. But there were plenty of women on this website who would see a pretty little thing like Sansa and take advantage of those big blue eyes and romantic idealistic beliefs. Margaery was straightforward with her purely casual intentions; not every other woman on here was so straightforward. 

She never did something if she thought it would actually be a bad move, never acted on a thought without considering it carefully. So she thought on it for a few moments.

Giving her phone number to Sansa didn’t really have many repercussions. At best, they could continue to talk the way they had been. At worst, Sansa turned out to use it _too_ much, and Margaery blocked her. She didn’t foresee that happening, but still.

With a deep breath, she wrote back.

**_Margaery, 7:16AM_ **  
_How about this: if you feel the need for my_  
_guidance, you can text me. I don’t like the feeling_  
_that I’ve thrown you to the vultures._

**_Sansa, 7:18AM_    **  
_Your guidance?_

Smirking, Margaery stood to place her cup in the sink. This was the right move, she decided. Sansa hadn’t failed to entirely entertain her once yet.

**_Margaery, 7:20AM_ ** _  
You did say that I’m your mentor, didn’t you?_

**_Sansa, 7:21AM_ **  
_I told you to ignore that!_

**_Margaery, 7:23AM_ **  
_You wrote it; I can’t forget it after reading it._  
_Here is my number. You can use it or not; it’s_  
_your choice._

She hesitated before sending the message, because something like _that_ really wasn’t her style. Regardless, she sent it anyway, along with another message with her phone number, before she set her phone down on the counter, next to her purse.

It was only once she’d done her hair, gotten on her shoes, and done her makeup that she made her way back out to the kitchen, preparing to leave for the day.

This time, her phone wasn’t alerting her to a message from _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ , but a text, from an unrecognized number.

_Hi. It’s Sansa. I’ve never had a mentor before._

Margaery was fairly certain she was going to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.


	3. Lesbian Guru

There were fewer things Sansa enjoyed more than having the TA office all to herself for any extended amount of time. The space was so small – hardly more than a closet, really – that getting anything done while any of the three other English Department TA’s were in the office at the same time was nearly impossible.

They had four desks crammed into the room, with as much shelving crammed with books, as they could possibly fit in any other available space. And when all four of them were sitting in their desk chars, if they all scooted back less than a foot, the backs of their chairs would be touching.

But these afternoons, when everyone else was busy in class or simply not on campus, were heaven for her. The cramped little office was a sanctuary for her for that short amount of time.

With her music playing in her earbuds keeping her grounded and focused, Sansa worked diligently at her desk. It was nearing the end of the first month of the semester, which – for her – meant that she had to grade the first papers of the year for the class she worked in as a Teacher’s Assistant. It was a lower level class, Free Folk Literature – the study of fables and folklore, and how oral tales became written word throughout history. Though Sansa wasn’t overly interested in the subject, it wasn’t a boring class.

She took it herself when she’d been in undergrad, and at the time, the class had been taught by Professor Giantsbane. Tormund, he’s insisted everyone call him. He’d been an adjunct professor by choice – mostly to supplement the excursions he liked to go on as an adventurer. He would tell their class about his excursions climbing mountains in the far north as often as possible, in between teaching them their actual course material.

She’d been working for Professor Lannister for over a year at this point, and been a TA in a handful of his classes, all on different subjects. He was informal in a sense, as many of his classes were very popular due to his wit and the way he engaged students into the material, though not so informal as Tormund had been, as he didn’t prefer his students to refer to him as Tyrion. The subjects he taught varied from prose to poetry to chants and songs, from many different areas in both Westeros and Essos, and he was knowledgeable about all of them.

It was nice to work with a professor who was well-respected for his intelligence, who didn’t treat her as though she were merely an assistant, but somewhat of a colleague. Granted, a colleague who did work for him, but still. However, that also meant Sansa held herself to the same high standard.

Which meant working on strict deadlines when it came to things such as grading. The papers that the students had turned in didn’t technically have to be graded and reported back to Professor Lannister for a few more days. But Sansa liked to keep to keep her deadlines slightly ahead of schedule, and she knew that it was noticed and appreciated.

Plus, it meant more time for herself and her own work she needed to complete.

With only a few papers still left to read, she only broke her concentration for a moment when the door opened to reveal Mya stepping in. The short-haired brunette gave her a nod and a quick smile, before wordlessly walking to her own desk and dropping into her seat as unobtrusively as possible.

Sansa finished marking the paper she’d been working on, and even though Mya was the only fellow TA she could actually get any work done around, she decided to finish grading at her apartment.

She’d met Mya last year, once she’d started working for Professor Lannister. Though they were both in their second year of grad school, she knew Mya was a few years older than she was, and had supported herself through undergrad. That was most likely why though she was often impetuous and funny, she also seemed to recognize whenever Sansa was in the mood she got in whenever she needed to work productively.

It was nearly painful to stretch, as she’d been sitting in the same position for so long. But it felt good, too, and she sighed in content as she leaned back, “How was that test you took? With Dr. Waynwood?”

The long, drawn out very non-content sigh Mya let out in response was enough, even before she bit out, “It sucked. But your notes from when you took Northern Folklore helped a bit. I have them if you want them back.”

She waved it off, “No need to rush.” It wasn’t like she would need them anytime soon. Not to mention, though it wasn’t her favorite subject, Northern Folklore – and most classes that discussed northern-based literature – were fairly simple for her. It was what she’d been raised on.

Mya dropped her head back, “I need a coffee if I’m going to make it through my class later. But, anyway, how did your grading go, miss popularity?”

“I’m almost done,” she responded quickly, with no small sense of satisfaction, before she even registered the last part. The nickname caught her off-guard, and she looked at Mya in question. All she received in response was the nodding of her head, toward where Sansa’s phone was perched on the edge of the desk. Just out of her eye range for when she was grading, so she wouldn’t be distracted.

“I’ve only been in here for a few minutes, and it’s already gone off a few times. Been lighting up like crazy,” Mya informed her with a grunt as she dug into the depths of her perpetually messy backpack, emerging with a book.

With a frown, she reached for her phone, blue eyes growing wide in concern when she saw that she had twenty-two unread messages. Sure, she’d been paying no attention to her phone for a few hours, but it was basically the middle of the day. What could be so important that she’d been bombarded?

Her mind was already racing with worst-case scenarios, when she saw that the majority of the messages were from the groupchat between herself and her siblings. She hadn’t realized her shoulders had drawn up and tensed until she felt them relax as she read through the messages.

**_Arya – 11:13AM_**    
_brought to you practically live from Braavos._    
_me kicking ass._    
[3 attachments] 

Sansa silenced her phone as she watched the clips her sister had attached. They were short videos of her, indeed, kicking ass. Arya had been interested in many sports over the years, and had played three – including rugby, much to their mother’s chagrin – throughout her school years. However, even more to their mother’s chagrin and blatant worry, the one that had stuck was kickboxing. It was really Robb and Jon’s fault; when Arya had followed them around like they were gods, they’d been barely teenagers, and interested in learning to fight.

It made her flinch, not only when Arya got hit, but even when her sister landed a punch. Sansa had never been one for violence, which made the feeling of pride she got when Arya won these fights a strange, almost conflicting thing.

Arya had been training seriously for the last couple of years, since finishing high school, with some of the best coaches in King’s Landing, and was fighting in an amateur circuit that had competitions throughout Westeros and Essos, on her way to being a professional.

  ** _Jon – 11:18AM_**    
_Look at you! You knocked her down before she_  
_even knew what was coming._

_**Robb – 11:23AM**  
__Looks like Syrio Forel is really paying off. And…_    
_correct me if I’m wrong, but your big brother taught_  
_you that move from the second video, right?_

**_Arya – 11:25AM_    **   
_you’re wrong_

**_Arya – 11:26AM_**    
_if you tried that, you’d fall right on your ass. bet_  
_on it._

**_Bran – 11:33AM_  **  
_Looks really great, Arya. And yeah, Robb, I would_  
 _be interested to see you try._

**_Jon – 11:38AM_    **   
_He’d break something._

_**Robb – 11:41AM**  
__All of my siblings, turning on me. I can’t believe_    
_my own eyes. And Jon, I used to best you; what_  
_makes you think I couldn’t still win?_

**_Arya – 11:46AM_**    
_because he’s a ranger up north and you work_  
_in an office all day, prob_

**_Bran – 11:50AM_    **   
_Took the words right out of my mouth._

**_Jon – 11:52AM_   **   
_Thank you for the support._

**_Robb – 11:59AM_**    
_It’s not like I’ve gone soft! The next time you’re_  
_at home, we’ll see who can take me down. I bet_  
_Sansa agrees with me._

**_Rickon – 12:04PM_**    
_you knocked out that girls teeth!!! thats so_  
_freaking cool._

**_Arya – 12:06PM_    **   
_Thank you, thank you! show your friends_

**_Rickon – 12:08PM_    **   
_i already did!_

**_Robb – 12:13PM_**    
_Show them after school. Get off your phone and_  
_pay attention._

_**Rickon – 12:14PM**  
_ _?? youre all texting!_  


**_Robb – 12:18PM_**    
_Yeah, and we’re all out of high school. You need_  
_to keep your grades up._

**_Jon – 12:21PM_    **   
_Robb’s right._

**_Rickon – 12:23PM_    **   
_fine but you all stink_

Sansa held her hand over her mouth, unable to smother the laugh that worked its way up, before it settled into a simple, adoring grin. Even though she hadn’t been _not_ close with her siblings when she’d been younger, it wasn’t until she’d moved away to King’s Landing for college five years ago that she’d really realized how much she enjoyed them, how much she missed them when they were no longer around all of the time.

**_Sansa – 12:36PM_ **  
_Arya, that’s sickeningly impressive._  
_Robb, you know I have unwavering faith in you._  
_Rickon, remember that mom’s not going to let_  
_you go to that wilderness camp over break again_  
_unless you keep your grades up this year._

Still smiling, feeling a warmth in the pit of her stomach and a bit around her heart as she felt a bit of home settle around her, she opened the next message.

**_Jeyne – 12:20PM_**    
_Been at the café since 6. Beth called out, so I’m_  
_working a double D: I could use an uplifting best_  
_friend visit! My break’s at 1:30. There are freshly_  
_baked lemon cakes!_

With a teasing smile, she wrote back, knowing that Jeyne would answer quickly when she saw what Sansa had to say.

**_Sansa – 12:39PM_**  
_You know I’ll go anywhere for Hot Pie’s lemon  
cakes._

**_Jeyne – 12:41PM_**    
_Are you saying you wouldn’t come just for me,_  
_your best friend, who would do anything for you?_

It was nice to know that she knew Jeyne so well that she easily predicted this response. Still, even though Sansa was no longer actually mad or even upset about the _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ profile, it was the fact that Jeyne would do anything for her – even when it was “for her own good” despite Sansa’s protests – that got them into most of the trouble they’d gotten into since childhood.

**_Sansa – 12:44PM_ ** _  
Yeah… save me two lemon cakes :)_

**_Jeyne – 12:45PM_   **   
_Bitch. I’ll see you soon._

Finally, she got to the last message. And she found her stomach erupting with pleasant butterflies of excitement. Not uncomfortably, in a way that she associated with anxiety, but in a new way, that she’d come to experience since talking to Margaery.

It was the burgeoning friendship with the gorgeous, slightly older, mystery woman that set them off, despite the fact that they’d been talking now for a few weeks.

**_Margaery – 12:25PM_  **  
_Something to add to the list, darling: if a woman_    
_ever asks you to go to The Crypt – you know, that_  
_hot club downtown, that’s practically near Flea_  
_Bottom? Don’t go, because she only wants a_  
_hook up._

The small grin that had been lingering on her lips since reading her first texts grew, even as she brought up the note she’d kept saved on her phone that she’d had since starting to talk to Margaery like this – regularly – two weeks ago.

True to her word, Margaery had been acting in somewhat of a guide capacity. What was shocking about it, really, was that she hardly ever even mocked Sansa for the fact that she’d even asked in the first place. When she thought back on the moment, she could still feel her face burn in mortification with herself.

Still, aside from moments where Margaery teased her – and even via text, Sansa could tell that it was meant to be just as she took it, lightheartedly… if somewhat embarrassing – she was nothing but pleasant. Helpful. Friendly.

On her notes, she added _The Crypt_ at the bottom. With Margaery’s advice, she’d created a list of “red flags” to look for with women on the website. The list varied from key words found under interests – _I’m not saying to not talk to a woman based entirely on her interests… but sometimes there are things to look for. Like when a woman say she’s interested in spontaneous fun – and there are several of them on here_ – to bios, that Sansa learned from Margaery was an option that most people didn’t use, as it cost an additional fee – _Trust me, sweetling, there is no reason that someone would pay to use the additional bio when there is free messaging to get to know someone, unless they feel that their personality through messaging isn’t enough to hold your interest_ – to the way women spoke in messages – _I know you’re looking for someone long-term, or at least the option of long-term, so you know to avoid anyone who brings up casual flings, but you still need to look out for the women who will talk about marriage after talking to you for a few hours. You don’t need that kind of craziness in your life_.

Those were only a few examples. Margaery mostly had a great deal of colorful words to say about very many women on here who were looking to “dine and dash,” a phrase Sansa had painfully and embarrassingly needed her to elaborate on, when a “pretty young thing” like Sansa was involved.

It wasn’t as though Sansa had expected for every woman that she might potentially make conversation with to be interested in the exact same thing that she was one day hoping for, but the more she thought about all of the potential traps that might befall her was… daunting, to say the least.

Which was one of the reasons that she hadn’t exactly messaged anyone else from the website.

Pulling her texts back up, she answered.

**_Sansa – 12:50PM  
_ ** _Done. Though, I would like to ask why._

She placed her phone on her lap, unsure of whether or not she’d be getting an answer. On the occasion that Margaery messaged her in the late morning or early afternoon, it was typically sporadic until later that evening.

Still, she had a little hope as she quickly organized her papers, shifting the graded ones to the top corner while clipping together the few she needed to complete, before tucking them into her bag.

When her phone buzzed in an answer, she felt a surprised yet pleasant flip-flop at Margaery’s quick answer, despite the time of day.

**_Margaery – 12:54PM_    **   
_I may have been there before, myself._

**_Sansa – 12:55PM_ ** _  
Oh, once or twice? :P_

She snorted out a quick laugh at herself, shaking her head as she placed her phone back down. Margaery always had extremely sensible explanations for her words of advice to Sansa, with a plethora of reasons, but it always came back to her own rather extensive experiences.

**_Margaery – 12:57PM_    **   
_Mmm, something like that…_

**_Sansa – 12:59PM_ ** _  
What if I wouldn’t mind going to a club?_

With her phone back on the desk, she continued to meticulously place her items in her backpack. She had no more classes for the day, so when she left campus, she wasn’t coming back.

Mya leaned back in her chair – consequently hitting it against the back of Sansa’s, with a groan as she dropped the book in her hand to her desk, “Gods, I can’t stand myths from the old Vale mountain clans.”

With a small drop of her shoulders, Sansa playfully nudged her chair against her friend’s, “Want to take a break and come get a coffee with me soon?”

Mya gave her an incredulous look, “Getting a coffee with you, or reading this shit book for Dr. Waynwood… let me think about that,” before her features melted into a small smile accompanied by an eye roll, “Of course. Let me get a get to the end of this chapter and we can go?”

Sansa was already giving her a nod of assent before her attention was drawn back to her phone.

**_Margaery – 1:04PM_**    
_Oh, “a club” is perfectly fine – depending on which_  
_one you’re wanting to go to. But not this one. This is_  
_like a code. Trust me, any woman on WLWoW who_  
_suggests going to The Crypt is only interested in one_  
_thing._

_**Margaery – 1:05PM**  
_ _And it’s not the sharp mind behind those baby blues._  


With an eye roll of her own, she scoffed quietly. She makes one inquiry about how exactly someone could dine and dash on a woman…

**_Sansa – 1:06PM_ ** _  
I got that!_

_**Margaery – 1:08PM**  
_ _Just wanted to make sure ;)_

Even as she shook her head, a muted thrilled feeling settled in her stomach, a small smile forming on pink lips once again. She’d gotten used to things like that – the winking faces and the casual flirting that she’d started to learn was basically instinctive to Margaery.

She’d gotten so used to it that she didn’t even respond to it anymore. All right, almost. A slight flush had settled on her cheeks, and that feeling in her stomach remained, however small. But still.

**_Sansa – 1:11PM_ **  
_And what brought this comment on? Did you go_  
_there recently?_

For a few moments after she sent it, she wondered if she’d asked too much. If it was too personal. Despite the knowledge Margaery imparted to her, with a few anecdotes on occasion, and the fact that they’d been talking every day, if a bit sporadically throughout the time of day, the older woman was very… sparing on the details she gave out about herself.

Which, Sansa could admit, only made her even more curious about her. And she was, so curious. Probably disproportionately so, given that Margaery didn’t seem to be overly interested in her life.

But, even though Sansa knew it shouldn’t play a role, part of the reason she wasn’t as interested as she was in messaging any other women – or even browsing profiles, really – was because she got so much excitement from messaging Margaery herself.

Biting her lip, Sansa brushed back her hair, before pulling it over her shoulder and starting to braid. There was nothing wrong with being curious, she reasoned. It wasn’t like she stayed awake at night, thinking of Margaery or got that feeling like she was about to fall from a great height every single time they spoke, like she often got whenever she was starting to have feelings for someone in the past.

Curiosity was only a natural progression from this tentative friendship – if she could call it that –they’d cultivated. After all, it had been weeks, and she still had no idea why Margaery suddenly deleted her profile. She couldn’t be in a relationship, Sansa was sure of that. And she didn’t seem like she wanted to be done hooking up way of life.

Still, Sansa tried not to dwell on the lack of details that she wanted to know.

**_Margaery – 1:16PM_**    
_No, no. I walked by it on the way home from a meeting_  
_over lunch. I can’t believe I forgot to mention it before,_  
_actually. Have you ever been?_

A quiet chuckle left her before she even realized it as she wrote back.

**_Sansa – 1:18PM_ **  
_Are you kidding? You think I’ve been to a gay bar?_  
_I’ve told you about my embarrassingly limited_  
_experiences with women, remember?_

She nearly jumped when Mya snapped her book closed, “Chapter finished! Let’s get some coffee, please. I need the pick-me-up.”

It was perfect timing, Sansa realized, as she stood up, stretching her back before she reached down to heft up her backpack. The café Jeyne had worked in ever since moving to King’s Landing during Sansa’s second year of school – which she now managed – was barely a ten minute walk away, and its proximity made it a popular spot for college students.

Blue eyes flickered toward her phone, noting with a slight disappointment that there was no answering message, before she pocketed it.

They’d barely gotten out of the building before Mya looked up at her, questioning expression on her face. Somehow, she managed to look probing without looking outright nosy, “So, who’s this person you’ve been texting all the damn time lately?”

Sansa stumbled for a step, feeling her cheeks heat up in a blush, “I’m not texting anyone all of the time!”

Mya was perceptive, though, and she grinned, “Fine, not all of the time, but you’re on your phone more than usual. So, spill.”

She hesitated, because this topic was still so new to her. But the whole reason she’d told Mya at all was because the brunette was so laidback about everything, and it wasn’t like she had anyone else to tell about her life updates on this matter. Technically, she _could_ have told Jeyne, but she’d kept the developments about Margaery from her out of spite.

And the only other person who knew about her sexuality aside from Jeyne and Mya was Arya, who only knew because she’d overheard a conversation Sansa had with Jeyne one day over the summer. Though she’d gotten closer to her sister in the last couple of years than she’d ever been in the past, Arya was still never particularly interested in her love life.

With another glance cast to the side, she watched as Mya practically strolled alongside of her for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, “Well, it all started because Jeyne created a dating profile for me, on _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ –”

Mya scoffed, loudly and with obvious scorn, “Of _course_ she did.”

Despite the predictable reaction Mya gave at the mention of her best friend, Sansa continued, “And she messaged this woman, Margaery, on my behalf –”

“Of course she did!” Mya shook her head now, “That girl never knows when to mind her own business.”

Sansa sighed, though she was well-used to how much derision Mya had for Jeyne, and how much the feeling was mutual. She’d introduced them after befriending Mya, and there had been an obvious and immediate dislike on both sides. For reasons that Sansa still wasn’t clear on, exactly. Both were brash and opinionated, but in their own ways. Mya in her dour wit, and Jeyne in her exuberance, and it seemed Sansa was just enough of a mix to satisfy them both.

Still, she turned sharply to face Mya slightly as they walked, and she was slightly exasperated, “Are you going to let me tell you or would you like to keep interrupting?”

Even though Mya made a show of rolling her eyes at her, she gestured for her to continue.

“So, Margaery is this… gorgeous, smart, experienced person, who really only does hookups. Which,” she pulled a quick face, “You know, isn’t exactly for me. And I told her that. But we got to talking a bit, and now she’s been helping me with trying to figure out what actually might be. What might be what I’m looking for, that is,” she added to clarify, hoping it would get rid of the incredulous look on Mya’s face.

But her face remained the same as she slowly asked, “You’re telling me that there is a _gorgeous, smart, experienced_ woman, who was interested in hooking up with you, and you… are talking to her about finding a date with someone else?”

Sansa found herself shifting uncomfortably at the tone of her voice, but nodded, because – well, it was true, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Mya’s dubious look shifted, melting into laughter, “You know you’re doing this whole online dating thing wrong, right?”

Blue eyes rolled, and Sansa shook her hair back over her shoulders, muttering, “Shut up.”

She acquiesced, even though she was still grinning as Sansa led them the rest of the short way to the café. Mya groaned as they approached the counter, narrowing her eyes at Jeyne before turning her glare on Sansa, “You said we were having coffee. Not having coffee with Jeyne.”

Her best friend gave a look of haughty disdain in return, “You just willingly walked into my workplace; I wouldn’t go to your TA office and not expect to find you there. But, by all means, you’re welcome to leave. I didn’t ask for _your_ presence.”

Sansa let out a purposefully loud, long-suffering sigh, “Okay, children, that’s enough. How about we just get our drinks and lemon cakes, and sit down?”

Jeyne quickly announced to Hot Pie, who was working in the back, that she would be taking her break, before she quickly and deftly got them their drinks – coffee for the two of them, tea for Sansa. She set down a plate of lemon cakes that Sansa was already eyeing before the plate was already out of Jeyne’s hands.

Before she reached for them, she shot Jeyne a grateful glance, “I did see that they were gone from the case. Thanks for saving some for me.”

Jeyne shrugged it off with a smile, though she could see it was a proud smile, “Of course. The least I could do as your _best friend_.”

She threw in an exaggerated wink, which Sansa knew was purposefully to irritate Mya. Which worked, as they both heard a sigh. Sansa chuckled lowly as she reached for a treat.

Jeyne tossed her head back with a sigh, “Seriously, though. Beth calling out could not have happened at a worst time. I barely got any sleep last night – there was a horror movie marathon on. And now I have to automatically stay until closing? I’m loving the pay raise with being the manager –”

Sansa grinned, quickly swallowing as her mouth was full with the end of her first lemon cake, “I know, you have the new shoes to prove it.”

Mya huffed out a laugh, and Jeyne jokingly tossed her hair over her shoulder, “Yeah, well. I just hate that now, this is my lot in life.”

“Sucks to have responsibility, doesn’t it?” Mya drawled, in a way that Sansa knew was supposed to agitate Jeyne.

Before she could say or do anything to diffuse the situation – not that it would take much, as Mya and Jeyne might bicker and not be exactly _friends_ , but they’d certainly come to tolerate one another – her phone chimed with a text. A quick glance told her that it was Arya sending another video. Quickly, she put her phone face down on the table, deciding to watch when she got back home.

But, as she reached for a piece of a lemon cake, Mya went in a different direction than upsetting Jeyne. Instead, she asked Sansa, “Is it the girl?”

“No,” she quickly said, hoping that her face was enough for Mya to not mention it again. But it was too late, and Jeyne’s attention had already been caught.

Dark eyes were staring at her with avid interest, “What girl? There’s a _girl_ , and you told Mya of all people, but not _me_?”

Mya protested mildly, but was more amused than offended. Sansa merely raised an eyebrow at Jeyne, “I told you there would be consequences to your actions.”

But Jeyne was waving her off, leaning forward in her chair in excitement, “I need to know these things!”

Before Sansa could even react – she should know when something like this was going to happen by now – Jeyne swiped up Sansa’s phone. However, unlike previous situations where Jeyne did something like this, Sansa felt a small sense of gratification as she reached for her coffee and took a sip as she waited…

And Jeyne’s displeased gasp didn’t disappoint her, a feeling of satisfaction flooding through her, before Jeyne whipped her gaze back to her, accusing, “You changed your password!”

A devious smile played on her mouth, even as her exasperation showed in her tone, “What did you expect?”

Jeyne stared at her as though she’d committed a treasonous crime; utterly betrayed, “I’ve known your password to get into your phone since – since you’ve first ever had a phone!”

“And you abused the privilege,” Sansa finished, plucking her phone out of her friend’s hands, glad to have the upper hand.

She’d almost forgotten Mya was there in those moments, until she cleared her throat, and Sansa looked up to see Mya looking between the two of them, “Why is it such a big deal if Sansa wants to talk to this Margaery chick? Even if she _is_ doing it all wrong.”

Sansa flushed, groaning as she didn’t even have to look at Jeyne to know that the moment of realization was dawning on her. Even before she heard her gasp, dramatically, again, “Margaery? Magnificent Margaery?”

Jeyne was giving her a wide-eyed look when Sansa finally looked back at her. A wide-eyed look that she recognized the pride in – both pride in Sansa and in herself – before a smug smirk took over, “So, my plan _worked_! You’re chatting up Margaery!”

Mya barked out a laugh, disregarding her typical distaste for Jeyne in order to correct, “No, Margaery was only interested in a hookup. Sansa’s chatting up Margaery in order to learn from all of her lesbian expertise.”

A disgruntled, strangled sound of protest worked its way out of Sansa’s throat, “Okay, that is how it… well, is. But it’s not – it’s not weird.”

Not… really.

Still, she’d expected Jeyne to be somewhat proud of her – once she would inevitably get over her betrayal at being kept in the dark. Instead, she was on the receiving end of a look of disbelief.

 “You…” Jeyne trailed off, staring at her in something akin to wonder, before she pointed her finger at Sansa in accusation, “I gave you the _world_ , Sansa Stark! And _this_ is what you’re doing with it?”

Baffled, she threw her arms in the air, “What the seven hells do you mean, _you gave me the world_? You put me in an awkward situation, and I made the best of it!”

“Made the best of it?” Jeyne parroted, loudly, skeptically, before she groaned in vexation, “Making the best of it would have been to have sex with this gorgeous woman who apparently told you that she wanted to fuck you! You were supposed to _sleep_ with magnificent Margaery, not have her become your… your lesbian guru!”

Her cheeks burned and she looked around the café to double check that no one was within earshot, before hissing out, “She’s not my _lesbian guru_.”

That just sounded… ludicrous. She preferred to think that they were friends. Even if, well, even if she didn’t know if what they had qualified as a friendship, despite the fact that she might like it to be one.

Jeyne just rolled her eyes, “Yeah, clearly not a very good one, considering you’ve not yet gone on a date.”

“Oh, gods,” Sansa grumbled, before taking a long sip of her tea. “You’re too invested in my love life,” she informed her.

But, much to her surprise, it was Mya who jumped in, “You know I hate to agree with Jeyne; you really know that I do. But, you did have a perfect window of opportunity to bang this apparently hot woman, but instead you make her your buddy? You’ve so much to learn.”

Jeyne banged her fist on the table, “She _hates_ to agree with Jeyne, but she is anyway! That’s how you know Jeyne’s right.”

“All right, I’m going to take if back if you’re going to start talking in third person,” Mya threatened, narrowing her eyes.

Sansa reached up, pressing her fingers into her eyes and rubbing before the headache that wanted to form could take hold, before she snapped her head up, “All right, that’s enough! No more talk about my love life, or else I’m going to bring _both_ of your love lives into discussion, and I don’t think that’s something we want to discuss between the three of us.”

They both looked at her in begrudging compliance after a few moments, and she leaned back smugly in her chair, sipping at her tea. Trying to ignore the squabbling that soon ensued over how much cream Jeyne put in her coffee, and also about the actual state of her lack of love life and the many reasons behind it.

It wasn’t until late that night that Sansa heard from Margaery again. Jeyne had just come back from the café, in a grumpy mood that she always was in after a double shift, before she’d promptly given Sansa a sloppy peck on her cheek in a manner she’d perfected that made Sansa laugh even as she would groan in disgust. Sansa was sitting in the living room, watching the end of a movie before she planned on going to bed.

She was pleasantly surprised to see that Margaery was messaging her at all this late. Though she did stay up fairly late the second time they’d spoken, that certainly wasn’t the norm that they’d established in the past couple of weeks.

**_Margaery – 11:22PM_**    
_You needn’t have slept with a woman in order to_  
_gain entrance to a gay club, darling._

Blue eyes rolled as she typed out her response.

**_Sansa – 11:24PM_ **  
_I know that, thank you very much. But do I strike_  
_you as the type of person who has gone out to a gay_  
_club in the hopes of finding… anything?_

She already knew the answer, of course, but she was still anticipating Margaery’s response. Margaery always seemed to have a comment for everything. Tucking her legs up under her, she laid her head on the back cushion of the couch and yawned as she waited.

**_Margaery – 11:27PM_**    
_You certainly have a point with that. Forget I ever_  
_asked._

**_Margaery – 11:28PM_**    
_Also, I apologize for not answering for so long._  
_I know that you are typically going to sleep by now,_  
_but  I had meetings all afternoon, and just got home_  
_from an outing with my brother._

A tired smile tugged at her mouth; it was always nice to know that Margaery paid attention to that. To the smaller details. Though, she knew at this point that Margaery rarely missed a detail or forgot anything. But perhaps it was in the facts like those that she could gauge whether or not Margaery to be her friend, too, or was just… being nice.

**_Sansa – 11:30PM_ **  
_It’s okay; I’m watching my favorite film adaptation_  
_of Florian and Jonquil on tv. I need to see the end._

Even though she’d already seen it a hundred times before, at the very least. But it was her favorite.

**_Margaery – 11:33PM_    **   
_The one from ten years ago? With Lady Crane?_

She felt a large, sleepy smile pull at her, even as she glanced up at the television again. The movie was nearing the end, and the actress who only went by her stage name of Lady Crane and who some would say was overrated, put on such a good show that Sansa was sucked in every time. Not to mention the story in and of itself was always moving.

And she enjoyed that Margaery knew which adaptation she was speaking of, despite the fact that there were so many to choose from, including one from only a couple of years ago.

**_Sansa – 11:34PM_ ** _  
Of course. There isn’t anything that beats it._

As she sent the message, she went to rest her head back down, before Margaery’s message – before the one about Lady Crane – belatedly fully registered to her.

She reread the message, blue eyes quickly skimming as she felt somewhat reenergized. A brother! Margaery had never texted about a brother before. She was so… private, about everything.

Sansa had learned that Margaery was always very careful about the way she phrased her words in conversation. After all, they’d been talking for weeks now, and she’d learned so little about Margaery’s actual day-to-day life; there was no way that was incidental.

Even though she hadn’t learned the actual details, she had learned through her own observations. Like that Margaery was very intelligent, witty, caring – there was no other way Margaery would had taken all of this time to talk to her, to help her, if she was uncaring – and dedicated.

She had no idea what Margaery did for a living, only that she pulled long hours wherever it was that she worked, had many meetings, and would often bring her work home with her.

But Margaery was careful not to say anything too specific, that might reveal what she actually did. And though she was curious, Sansa didn’t ask. It went without having been spoken that Margaery clearly wanted these boundaries, and their maybe-friendship – if she was going to call it that – was still in early stages.

Margaery was already, though she hated Jeyne’s phrase, her lesbian guru. A role she certainly hadn’t needed to take on, but she had anyway. So, Sansa shouldn’t try to push for more information than Margaery wanted to give, despite just how interesting she was.

But, she _was_ interesting, and Sansa had an inquisitive mind.

Unable to stop herself, she quickly typed out another message.

**_Sansa – 11:37PM_ ** _  
How was your night out with your brother?_

It was casual, right? After all, Margaery had been the one to mention it, so it couldn’t be out of line for Sansa to ask. Even so, a bit of anxiety started to creep up after a few minutes went by without hearing anything back.

She was relieved when her phone buzzed again.

**_Margaery – 11:46PM_**    
_It was good. We went out for drinks; we had a few_  
_things to discuss._

Naturally, she didn’t mention what it was she wanted to discuss, Sansa noted with a sigh. But it didn’t change the fact that she’d actually answered!

**Sansa – 11:48PM**  
_I’ve never actually gone out for drinks with my_  
_brothers, and none of them live around here, so_  
_it’s not as if it could be a common thing between_  
_us, anyway._

**_Sansa – 11:49PM_ **  
_I have four of them. Brothers, that is. Well, one_  
_of them is technically a cousin, but he was raised_  
_as my brother. Two older, two younger._

She forced herself to drop the phone in her lap to refrain from sending any more information, even as she hoped that by offering her own, Margaery would feel more open to sharing her own. If they were going to be texting every day, why not cross that line into actually being friends? And friends had to know things.

**_Margaery – 11:55PM_**    
_Four brothers and a sister. Quite a large family_  
_you have. So you understand brothers, then._

Sansa stared at the response and bit her lip. It wasn’t particularly revealing, but it wasn’t a message to tell her to back off, either. Plus, she liked very much that Margaery remembered that little fact about Arya, even though she hadn’t brought her up much, not since she second time they’d talked and Arya had gone to Braavos shortly thereafter.

She went with a safe answer, either way.

**_Sansa – 11:57PM_ **  
_More than most, I would say. I miss them, more_  
_than I thought I would when I left home._

It was a perfect opening for Margaery to ask her more. Ask her the obvious questions – about where “home” was, for example.

She didn’t.

_**Margaery – 12:05AM**  
__I can imagine. I have two brothers that I’m not_    
_as close with, but the one I saw tonight doubles_  
_as one of my best friends._

But that information was enough to make Sansa smile. It was only a little, but it was progress. She’d given seemingly personal information, without another question to coax it from her! She was still thinking of what the proper response was – probing for more information, but not so much that she came off as strange, strange _r_ than typical, or overly-nosy – when her phone buzzed again.

**_Margaery – 12:06AM_**    
_I must get to sleep, though. I’ve early meetings in_  
_the morning. And, if I’m not mistaken, this is slightly_  
_past your bedtime on a weekday ;)_

A warm flush worked over her cheeks as she tilted her head back onto the couch with a smile. Maybe she was not very forthcoming with details or as curious about Sansa as Sansa was about her, but that was no matter, at the moment.

**_Sansa – 12:08AM_ **  
_You’re not mistaken, actually. I’ve been yawning_  
_for over an hour. Goodnight, and good luck with_  
_your meetings._

“Whatever meetings they are,” she murmured to herself.

**_Margaery – 12:11AM_    **   
_Goodnight, sweetling, and thank you._

Sansa curled up under the blanket for a few more moments; they might not be exactly the closest of friends yet. She ignored the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Jeyne that told her perhaps she should have been more concerned with talking to a woman from the website that could be a more productive use of her focus, than determining how exactly to befriend her so-called lesbian guru.


	4. Unprecedented Possibilities

Margaery didn’t particularly believe in luck; she believed in creating her own opportunities, and typically, she was damn good at taking advantage of whichever situation she found herself in.

Of course, she wasn’t naïve. She was well aware that the family she’d been born into and the life she’d been given played a large role in who she was and what she had. She recognized and appreciated that much, but she liked to believe that she would be fundamentally _herself_ no matter what the condition.

On the rare occasion that something didn’t go according to her anticipated plan, Margaery typically took it in stride. Employed a back-up plan that she’d usually thought of concurrently with the original plan. She’d long ago learned that it was a basic requirement of a successful politician to plan for several roadblocks, as well as to be able to improvise when necessary.

From big things, like the time the trucks that had been contracted to deliver food to homeless shelters under a new initiative that she’d created had failed to deliver in a timely manner – it had been an unforeseen and damnable issue, but with a little money and resourcefulness, Margaery had made sure that the food had been delivered and her plans had gotten off the ground.

To the small things, like when she’d realized that none of her brothers had remembered to pick up the gift they’d all _planned_ to get for their parents’ thirty-fifth anniversary, even after she’d sent them a reminder, and using some connections and calling in a favor, Margaery procured tickets to the orchestra for them the following night.

Margaery was skilled at thinking ahead, at creating doors for herself where there had previously been walls.

However, she couldn’t deny that despite her belief that karma wasn’t real, that good fortune didn’t fall upon people for mere luck, she couldn’t deny that there were times when everything in the universe simply seemed to align.

Today was one of those days, and she could not be more thankful.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she glided across the office, a satisfied smirk on her face as she tapped the folder in her hand against her palm. Without a knock, she entered Renly’s office and swiftly shut the door behind her, striding up to the desk when he lifted his head from where he’d been focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

He gave her a questioning look, but had no time to actually ask about her interruption before she placed the file on his desk, then tapped her fingertips on it decisively, as she informed him, “Ned Stark is here.”

The words came out in a conspiratorial whisper, tone undeniably filled with excitement.

Renly sat back in his chair, eyebrows raising in question, “Ned Stark?”

“The one and only,” Margaery’s smirk melted into a smile as she leaned her hip against his desk, “He’s having a meeting with my grandmother right now, and I presume he’ll be staying for the charity fundraiser tomorrow evening.”

In fact, she _knew_ he would be staying for the fundraiser. Once she’d spoken to her grandmother the previous night and learned that he would be in King’s Landing – one of his very few work visits – she might have made some inquiries about his plans and the duration of his trip.

She could see the dawning start in on her boss’s face only seconds before he shot her an amused glance, “Ah. So you’re planning to win over the illustrious Warden of the North during the fundraiser?”

A scoff worked its way passed her lips, nearly saddened by him for thinking on such a small scale, “Not _just_ at the fundraiser tomorrow, darling.” She reached out to tap a finger against the file she’d brought in with her, “This is the follow-up on my meetings with the homeless shelter in Flea Bottom, as well as the reviews you needed from me by the end of the day.”

The fact that Renly didn’t even glance at the file and trusted that it was filled with everything she’d promised – not to mention done correctly – only added to the satisfaction she was feeling. She liked knowing that he trusted her as much as he could trust anyone. And that they both knew the trust was well-placed.

He did sit up in his seat, though, nodding his head slowly, “Ah, so you’ve finished all of the work you were planning to do in the office this afternoon, because you don’t plan on only sucking up to Stark tomorrow night, but today, too.”

His aptitude was one of the reasons he was such a close friend, and she shot him a wink, “I love when you catch on quickly. A jump-start on winning someone over never hurt.”

An irritating snort left his mouth, green eyes lit up as he teased, “Certainly not when you’re dealing with Ned Stark.”

She let her mouth fall open in mock-offense, “Do you doubt my ability to charm?”

The look he gave her wasn’t enough to make her drop her smirk, as she’d already steeled herself against potential worry. Margaery knew that winning Ned Stark over would be an uphill battle, especially in such a short amount of time. But she also knew that she _must_ do it – or, at the very least, do as well as she could.

There were very few families in the nation who were as respected as the Starks. Despite the fact that it had been many generations since Westeros had become a democracy and that warden of each region was also an elected position, there had never been a Warden of the North who had not been a Stark. Those in the North were a loyal people, and the Stark family inspired that loyalty. As each region had gone through several different leaders since democracy had taken hold, it was a feat to admire that Starks were continuously elected.

Ned Stark’s approval of her running for the seat on the small council would be quite a positive endorsement for her campaign. His support would be important in any election, but even more so for this particular seat. It was well-known that Ned Stark and the deceased Jon Arryn were very close, so whomever Stark would recommend to take over Jon Arryn’s now-empty seat on the council could make a significant difference to the election ahead.

It was also well known that gaining Ned Stark’s respect was not a job easily accomplished, especially not in a short amount of time.

And Margaery felt she was already at a disadvantage. It was yet to be made public who would be running for the seat as her opposition, not to mention the fact that she’d only ever met the Warden of the North once before. Which had been nearly ten years ago, just after her grandmother had been elected as Prime Minister for the first time. He’d only met her – briefly – as the granddaughter of a politician. Never as _herself_.

However, she took this in stride.

It was why she’d stayed up for hours later than she normally did to finish the work she’d needed to do today in the office. So she could be free to _conveniently_ be close her grandmother’s office in the Red Keep when her meeting with Stark would be over. Free to just-so-happen to invite him for lunch.

Finally, Renly sighed, “I don’t doubt your ability to charm; I doubt his ability to be charmed.”

“Everyone can be charmed,” she reminded him, shaking her head. “There is always an angle,” that, she murmured mostly to herself. The issue was finding the right angle.

But that was always something Margaery found herself fairly adept at.

She could see the amusement bright in his expression as he shook his head lightly and slid the file toward himself, “Well, you know the deal. During the campaign, your office hours are as flexible as you need, as long as you still get your work done, which I have no doubt you’ll do.”

It wasn’t the first time she was grateful to have Renly as her boss, and even when – if – she won the election in six months, she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He’d been extremely accommodating to her scheduling needs and future plans, and had even offered to help find her an assistant should she need more time out of the department. She’d declined that.

Before she could start to thank him, the phone on the desk next to her started to ring. She shot him a smile before sliding off of her perch on the desk, “I’ll see you later.”

He gave her a nod as he reached for the receiver, and she closed the door behind her on the way out.

By her estimation, she had forty-five minutes before Ned Stark’s meeting with her grandmother would be finished. Well, technically, it was an hour before his scheduled appointment would be over with, but she’d put together information she knew about the man and concluded that he would probably be as efficient as he could be in order to spend as little time in meetings in the Red Keep.

It was not a well-kept secret that the Warden of the North would much rather keep to dealing with his own region rather than collude with the other politicians in King’s Landing. Where other wardens from most every other region would make trips to the capital every few months, whichever Stark was in charge typically only made the trip once or twice a year.

If that.

Just as she made it back to her seat, she felt her phone vibrate, and she was fairly certain that even without looking, she knew who it was from.

A pleased smile tugged at her lips when she saw that she was right.

_**Sansa – 11:47AM**  _  
_Should I even ask why you answered my text at_  
_three o’clock in the morning?_

The quiet chuckle escaped her lips before she realized it, and she shook her head slightly. She hadn’t even realized she’d had a missed message from Sansa until she’d been about to fall into bed after completing her work in a caffeine driven three hours.

_**Margaery – 11:50AM** _  
_You probably shouldn’t. I will, however, tell you_  
_that it was for a good cause._

While Margaery would be drinking a bit more coffee than usual today in order to stay alert, this was one of the first days that could truly matter for her campaign.

_**Sansa – 11:53AM**  _  
_I shouldn’t judge how late you stayed up last night_  
_anyhow. I was up later than usual, too. I only missed_  
_your text by less than an hour._

Intrigued, Margaery hummed under her breath. She’d been talking to Sansa – through text – for nearly a month now. In that time, it was impossible for her to not have learned her schedule by now. And even on weekends, Sansa didn’t typically stay up later than one in the morning, let alone on a Wednesday night.

Especially as, Margaery knew, Sansa was up as early as she was on Thursday mornings. She’d yet to put together exactly what it was that Sansa occupied her time with or what she did. But she did know that Sansa kept flexible hours throughout most every day.

However, she wouldn’t ask directly, even if she was relatively curious. Not when she resolutely kept her own life so private.

_**Margaery – 11:57AM** _  
_And why were you up so late, darling? Hot date?_  
_Hot date, and you never even told your lesbian guru?_

She sent it with a smirk, before setting her phone down and combing her fingers back through her hair, reaching for a clip. Her hair was curled today, and she clipped it back, only taking a moment to double check that her curls were over her shoulders, not out of place.

Despite the fact that Sansa had still yet to delete her account on the website, she also hadn’t actually gone out with anyone, either. Margaery knew Sansa well enough to know that she certainly hadn’t gone out to browse any profiles. But she knew women – especially many women who used _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ – and she was correct in thinking that she would have been eager to scoop a pretty little thing like Sansa right up.

The only thing was that out of the women who had messaged Sansa, they fell into some category on the red flag list in some way, shape, or form. At least, that was as far as Sansa told her. Margaery would never tell Sansa not to go out with someone, but Sansa never seemed terribly interested in anyone despite her warnings.

_**Sansa – 11:59AM** _  
_Ha ha. You’re hilarious. Take your show on a_  
_comedy tour._

_**Sansa – 12:00PM** _  
_I never should have told you that my friends called_  
_you that._

_**Margaery – 12:02PM** _  
_Probably not ;)_

In the past couple of weeks since Sansa had told her about what her friends had taken to calling her, Margaery had taken to referencing it fairly often. The fact was that it amused her to almost no end. Plus, she enjoyed it, quite a bit.

_**Sansa – 12:05PM**  _  
_Regardless, no, there was no hot date. Pretty much_  
_the opposite, actually._

Forehead crinkling in confusion, she wrote back.

_**Margaery – 12:07PM** _  
_A not-hot date? That’s not very nice, you know._

_**Sansa – 12:10PM**  _  
_No date at all! I wanted to get everything done for_  
_today and tomorrow, because I have plans with my_  
_family. Well, my dad, really._

_**Margaery – 12:13PM** _  
_Your father is here? That’s quite exciting. You_  
_must be happy._

She’d learned that Sansa was not actually from King’s Landing, and that she missed her family quite a bit. However, much like she’d not told Sansa the actual details of her family, she didn’t know the specifics.

It was strange, knowing someone the way she knew Sansa. She knew the girl – her personality, at least through text message. Her sense of humor, that she had a good heart. She knew facts about her, like that she loved Florian and Jonquil and preferred tea to coffee, but not the details.

They’d formed… a friendship, in a sense of the word. A friendship in the sense that she felt comfortable enough to discuss some things with Sansa that she wouldn’t have discussed with a woman she was hooking up with. She wouldn’t mention who her family was, but she had told some stories of her brothers. She wouldn’t mention what her work was, but she would vaguely talk about why she was busy or stressed.

Sansa was much more forthcoming with stories about her life, though she’d certainly caught on to Margaery’s sense of privacy and adhered to her unspoken rules.

In hindsight, it truly was an arrangement that worked well for Margaery. While she had Loras and Renly, she didn’t have any female friends. No one close enough who knew of her sexuality, who she could speak freely with about things like that. No one who hadn’t known her for years or knew the side of her that she couldn’t be at work.

This way, she had somewhat of a friendship with Sansa – where Sansa knew her personality, who she was; she had someone to talk and joke with – but it didn’t get caught up in the very real, complicated matters of her plans, her goals, her career.

_**Sansa – 12:15PM**  _  
_Oh, I am. I didn’t think I would be seeing him_  
_until the holidays._

She received Sansa’s text at the same time as her phone buzzed with the alarm she’d set, to make sure that she wouldn’t be late to her plan of cornering Ned Stark upon coming out of his meeting. Her stomach twisted in excited anticipation, the same feeling she got whenever she was proposing a new plan or especially when she’d been mapping out steps in her campaign in the last few weeks.

After taking a moment to make sure she was as composed and as well put-together as she always made a point to be, she grabbed her purse and her phone. She typed quickly as she walked.

_**Margaery – 12:17PM** _  
_I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to meet_  
_someone. I hope you’ll have fun with your dad._

_**Sansa – 12:18PM**  _  
_That’s all right! I’m going to see him shortly,_  
_anyway. Good luck with your meeting!_

Margaery walked with purpose out of the office, even as she couldn’t resist tacking on another message.

_**Margaery – 12:20PM** _  
_You always say that, you know. Every time that_  
_I’m going into a meeting, you wish me luck._

_**Sansa – 12:21PM**  _  
_Is that… a bad thing?_

It was actually somewhat endearing, in all honesty. Mostly because Sansa had no idea what she was wishing Margaery luck to do, but she felt that Sansa genuinely meant it, regardless.

_**Margaery – 12:23PM** _  
_No, not at all. It’s just, I could be going to a meeting_  
_of ill repute, and you are still wishing me luck._

_**Sansa – 12:25PM**  _  
_I can’t wish you luck in your meetings regarding_  
_drug dealing or prostitution or the like?_

_**Sansa – 12:26PM**  _  
_Besides, I trust you._

She grinned, even as she shook her head. Sweet, trusting Sansa. It was that aspect that made her feel this strange protective urge in the first place, and the joking wit of her first message that she’d discovered in the last few weeks that made Sansa even better to talk to.

_**Margaery – 12:28PM** _  
_Thank you for the trust. I’ve got to deal some_  
_drugs into my prostitution ring, now. Have a_  
_good day, Sansa ._

She tucked her phone away just as she got to the double set of doors in front of her grandmother’s offices. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and nodded to the security team on either side of the entrance, before she pushed the door open and strolled in, right on time as in fifteen minutes early.

Only to falter in her steps, when she saw through her grandmother’s open door that she was on the phone, with no one else meeting with her in the office.

For a moment, she saw the plans she’d concocted start to fall away, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Warding away the disappointment, she turned to face her grandmother’s secretary, “Elinor, where is Mr. Stark?”

The woman looked up at her from where she’d been typing at her computer, uncertainty on her features, “I’m not sure. His meeting with the Prime Minister was scheduled through twelve forty-five, but they seemed to have wrapped business up early.”

“I can see that,” she kept her voice light, measured, even though there was a potential headache brewing behind her eyes, “When did he leave?”

“Hmm,” she brought her wrist up to check her watch, eyebrows coming together in thought before she answered, “A little less than ten minutes ago, I would say.”

Ten minutes… she could work with that. The wheels in her head were already turning, “Do you know where he went?”

Elinor grimaced – an answer even before she reluctantly shook her head, “I’m sorry. But I can pull up his schedule for tomorrow, if you’d like to see if there is an available meeting time?”

Margaery was already shaking her head, but she gave her a quick, appreciative smile. Elinor was only a year older than Margaery herself was, and though she was quiet, she was extremely organized and capable; her grandmother wouldn’t have hired her otherwise, “No, but thank you.”

She hitched her purse over her shoulder, her pace hurried but not breaking into a run. Barring an emergency, never in the Red Keep would she do that. A dignified composure was one of the best armors she could have.

She didn’t want to have a _meeting_ with Ned Stark; for that would clearly show her hand. A person didn’t outwardly lobby for someone’s respect – not a smart person, anyway. It had to be done naturally.

Or, appear to be done naturally, she thought with a grim amusement at herself.

It was a friendly but terse conversation with one of the security guards outside of the Red Keep, a subway ride, and twenty minutes later that found Margaery paused outside of Topped Off. It was a small, but brightly and neatly decorated café, rather close to King’s Landing University.

She’d never been here, though, and she took a moment to frown up at the sign. It was a cutely designed coffee cup, with the Topped Off logo splashed into the cup of coffee, with various pastries floating around the side, and she could not for the life of her imagine why Ned Stark would be going here, out of all of the places to get a cup of coffee in the city.

The security guard at the Red Keep had assured her that he’d just had a conversation with Mr. Stark on his way out of the building, and that this was the place he was going… but he could have been wrong.

Casually, she took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirt, wishing it would ward off the slight chill in the air – but she hadn’t exactly been prepared for running out of the building – before she peered into the window of the café. It was decently empty, only a few of the tables taken up, with two young girls working behind the counter. None of the patrons were the man in question.

Which had been the reason that she’d taken the subway in the first place. She’d wanted to beat him here, rather than make it appear as it truly was – that she was following him. And after learning that he’d intended to walk, she went in the opposite direction to the closest subway stop.

But maybe she was in the wrong place entirely, and this was all for naught. Which would be such a frustrating waste of valuable time.

The only outward sign she allowed herself was a sharp, huffed out breath.

Which got cut off as when she looked up as someone turned the corner. And the vexation that had been coiling inside of her melted away, her mouth shifting into an easy smile. Because perhaps this café was an unforeseen destination for Ned Stark, notoriously serious Warden of the North, yet here he was.

Though she was curious – she couldn’t help but wonder – she couldn’t care about anything other than the fact that she was in the right place. That even though off-course, her plan was still in play.

Standing up straight, she turned to look at him fully, “Mr. Stark! Coming for a cup of coffee?”

His footsteps faltered, and he paused a few feet away, gray eyes scanning over her face in an obvious search for recognition. She knew he was coming up short, even before he spoke; he had an honest face, “Uh, yes. I’m sorry, I don’t recall…”

Grinning, she stuck out her hand, “Margaery Tyrell. We’ve only met once, years ago, so no need for apologies.”

Now he nodded, and gave her hand a quick, firm shake, “Ah, right. We met at your grandmother’s inauguration. How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you. I’m the Assistant Director in the Department for the People now, actually,” she slipped in, as her hand fell back to her side.

He gave her a considering look, “That’s admirable work.”

Inside, she felt slightly victorious already. She’d thought that he would appreciate her branch of government work, as it was known that he’d created several programs to care for the smallfolk.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I’d actually read over several of your plans that you’d implemented when I was developing a deal between the homeless shelters and food banks. They were extremely helpful,” she informed him with a thankful smile, though she wasn’t lying. She had read over his plans, and she did admire several of the programs he’d overseen.

He gave her a small nod, followed by a fleeting smile, “I’m glad the plans could help.”

Though he seemed genuine enough, the statement was concise and final, his expression was still not engaged, though polite; he didn’t want to discuss work, wasn’t interested in jumping into a discussion on policy, as many other politicians she’d met were.

That was okay, it just wasn’t the angle she should work, she realized. But what was?

She didn’t miss the way his eyes wandered to the door of the shop behind her, and she astutely stepped aside, “Would you like to perhaps get a cup of coffee with me?”

Even though he took a step forward toward the café, he hesitated, “Sorry, but I’m meeting my daughter here, very soon.”

She appreciated that even though he wasn’t actually regretful – that much was clear – that he had the grace to apologize anyway. But that wasn’t enough to make her give up, especially not when she saw the way his gaze flit over the window, clearly looking for the daughter in question.

There was a triumphant feeling in her chest when she saw the slight changes in his expression, because that was it. His family could be the angle she’d been looking for. For a moment, she cursed at herself because of course she was well-read on his policies and the history of his leadership, even the history of his family.

However, she was unversed on the matter of his actual family, his children. It had been a naïve mistake of hers, she realized now, to assume that he wouldn’t be a father first. Because of the fact that he was reputably somber, she’d assumed he would be all business. It had been a miscalculation.

But one that was easily remedied, and she reached for the door of the café, “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to get in the way of any father-daughter bonding time. Do you see her often?”

He beat her to it, and opened the door for her, gesturing for her to go first, “Not nearly as much as I’d like. Neither of them, really.”

Margaery watched carefully as he spoke, even as she walked past him into the café. His expression didn’t really change so much as slightly shift. Get a little softer, at the mention of his children.

She could work with that, and she wracked her brain, “You have two daughters, right?”

“Yes. My youngest, she’s in Essos at the moment. But my oldest goes to college here,” he explained, and it all clicked into place. All, meaning the choice of café. Knowing it was chosen by a college girl made much more sense.

She followed behind him toward the counter, thinking of what she knew of the Stark children. Two daughters, she vaguely remembered that. The oldest, Robb, was her age, already working on the council of the North. He would one day become the Warden of the North, or he would campaign for it, at the very least.

“And your wife, is she here as well? Meeting you and your daughter?” she hadn’t been able to confirm whether or not Catelyn Stark had joined her husband when she’d done her limited research last night.

He briefly shook his head, “She’s working on a deadline of her own.”

She, of course, was familiar with Catelyn Stark’s writing, and that was another avenue of conversation. But there was something about the succinct way he’d said it that told her he didn’t like people questioning into his wife’s business.

Before she could say anything, the girl behind the counter popped up from where she’d been behind the pastry counter, a bright smile on her face as she enthusiastically called out, “Mr. Stark!”

A bigger smile than she’d been given crossed over his features, and Margaery turned to look at the girl. Jeyne, according to her nametag, was a short, pretty girl, maybe a few years younger than herself. She had dark hair, pulled into a ponytail, and she brushed her hands on the apron she was wearing.

He stepped forward, “Jeyne, how are you? Staying out of trouble?”

There was affection in his tone, but… she on a level that this wasn’t his daughter.

The girl’s smile turned a little wily, as she shot him a wink, “You know me.”

This garnered a small, gruff laugh, “I do.”

A friend, she surmised. A friend of the oldest daughter.

She didn’t even take his order before she called to the other girl working behind her, “Large, plain black coffee. Strong as we have. I got you, Mr. Stark.” The barista started to turn toward her, “And what can I get y – oh, my gods!”

Both Margaery and Mr. Stark startled, and she quickly looked around her, looking for the cause of the outburst. But there was nothing amiss, and the girl’s – Jeyne’s – dark eyes were focused on her, and bright with something Margaery couldn’t place.

Feeling a bit unsettled and confused, she merely quirked an eyebrow and kept her expression firm in a way that she knew often cut through people’s amusement, “I’ll also take a plain black coffee. Large.”

It didn’t work with this barista, though, whose grin seemed to widen, and she reached for a cup without taking her eyes off of Margaery’s face. She dug out a marker, “Can I get a name for that?”

There were alarm bells ringing in her head, and instead of answering, Margaery peeked around at the other people – who didn’t have names on their cups – before she deliberately looked at the cup the other girl was filling for Mr. Stark, which was also blank.

Suspicion was quick to creep up her spine, and she pointedly turned back to this Jeyne woman, and she took a moment to scan over her face. There was no way she’d ever hooked up with her; there may have been many women, and there may have been alcohol involved in several hookups, but she didn’t forget a face. She rarely forgot a thing, ever.

And she didn’t think this was someone she’d chatted with in the past, either. The girl looked highly entertained, and it was irksome that she had no idea why.

Jeyne-the-barista followed her gaze, before waving the girl behind her off, “Oh, Beth never writes the names. She’s new,” she added, and ignored the indignant “ _Hey_!” called out from the woman behind her, as well as the dirty look.

Regardless, she had limited time with Mr. Stark today, and that time was ticking down. So, she sighed, “Margaery.”

When Jeyne-the-barista positively cackled, Margaery narrowed her eyes, which she seemed to notice, “I’m not laughing at your name. Promise,” she assured as Margaery paid.

Somehow, she knew to doubt the validity of this girl’s promises, especially with such mirth dancing in her dark eyes. Still, she turned to face Stark, who didn’t look nearly as concerned as she did by the girl’s odd behavior.

He did, however, look a little warmer than he had before as he shrugged, “That’s my daughter’s friend; she’s always been a high-energy girl.”

It wasn’t comforting, because Margaery still got the feeling that Jeyne knew something Margaery didn’t. Reading people was her skill, and as far as she knew, it wasn’t Ned Stark’s.

Still, she shrugged it off, and took a deep breath before asking, “So, if Catelyn won’t be joining you, are you still going to be attending the charity fundraiser while you’re in town?”

She knew he would be; she’d even called the event planner that she knew was in charge to make sure, as well as wheedled her way into getting their seating arrangement changed so that she could sit across from Stark and his plus one.

Still, her expression was inquisitive as she looked at him, and he nodded, not bothering to hold in a sigh, “Yes, I’ll be there.”

He didn’t seem particularly happy about the night rubbing elbows with other politicians, as well as various other wealthy society members, but she didn’t expect him to be. That was all in his expected profile.

“Ah, so will I. The event is actually to raise money for an orphanage I’ve worked closely with; it’s an extremely good cause,” she slipped in, also sincere in that matter. The improvement of the Flea Bottom orphanage had been one of her greatest achievements in the last few years.

He nodded, lifting his eyebrows, “I’ve heard of some of the work done there.”

Once again, his tone was as positive as she would have expected, but not very open to conversation. So, she worked around it, “Will anyone be joining you at the function?”

That warmth in his eyes came back, and she knew she’d hit her target, “Yes, actually. My daughter’s agreed to come.”

She grinned, “That’s lovely. I’m sure she won’t find it too boring. You said she’s in university right now?”

“Yes. And far better at upholding her social graces than I am; she gets that from her mother,” he added, before turning to accept his coffee from the second girl – Beth – with a small smile, and a generous tip in the jar.

“Order up, _Margaery_!” Jeyne-the-barista called, placing the cup at the other end of the counter, but not letting it go.

Margaery maintained her expression, even though she wanted to narrow her eyes at the girl as she approached, keeping her voice conversational, “Did you make it special?”

She was met with a wide smile, “Of course. From the heart, with lots of… experience.”

That tone sounded the warning bells even louder in her mind, as she reached out to accept her cup, honeyed brown eyes narrowing the slightest bit, “Sounds perfect, thank you.”

Out of habit, she dropped a tip in the jar – even as she was hoping by some nature that her money was going to Beth at the end of the day.

As she saw the writing, she paused. In a messy, looped scrawl was _Magnificent Margaery_ , and she quirked an eyebrow, speaking slowly, “Not many get the spelling right on the first try.”

Jeyne’s smile didn’t falter, “Lucky guess.”

She walked to the station with the sugar, giving the girl one last look, feeling Jeyne’s eyes on her back as she tore open a packet. When the bells over the door rang to signal someone coming in, she was stirring in her sugar packet. And the only mind she paid to it was that she heard Jeyne call out, “Welcome, my beautiful, bright ray of redheaded sunshine!”

“Hello to you, too, weirdo,” a smooth, feminine voice said back, in a remarkably quieter, calmer tone. Though, Margaery noted, not a surprised tone. Perhaps Mr. Stark was right in saying that this Jeyne was just a strange creature.

Shaking her head, Margaery turned, first skimming her eyes over the barista, before turning farther. The girl who’d walked in had her back to Margaery, as she faced Ned. His daughter, she decided in a moment, even before she threw her arms around his neck.

She could see his face over her shoulder, melting into a warm smile, and for a moment, she saw the man he must be around his family. A loving father, clearly.

She took a sip of her coffee as she turned her attention to the girl. She was barely on her tiptoes as she had her arms wrapped around his neck in a hug – tall. A few inches taller than herself, without a doubt.

And no wonder, as she took in legs encased in tight jeans. Long, lithe legs that went on for fucking miles, apparently. Margaery took a deep breath in through her nose even though she didn’t stop herself from continuing her gaze up… up, and over her ass.

Which was just as phenomenal to look at as her legs were – or better.

Her eyebrow quirked slightly in interest before she shook her head at herself. She was thankful that she knew that she was discrete in her endeavors, because checking out the daughter of the man she wanted to win over, who had famously straight-laced, old-fashioned, and strict ideals… that was not a smart plan, no matter how subtle the checking out was.

But still. _Damn_.

With a deep breath, she pushed herself away from the counter, ignoring Jeyne-the-barista whose gaze she could still feel, and she was close enough to the Starks to hear the daughter say, “I’m so happy you’re here,” as they pulled out of their hug.

It was Jeyne who pointedly cleared her throat from behind everyone, “I’m happy we’re all here.”

“Jeyne, what are you on today?” the exasperation was clear and familiar in Ned Stark’s daughter’s tone as she turned.

And it was only as she turned that Margaery’s eyes caught on the long braid pulled over her shoulder. The long braid of soft-looking, smooth, shiny _gorgeous_ red hair. A shade that not many people had, but a shade that seemed familiar to Margaery.

Even if she’d only seen it in a picture.

Her heart started to pick up pace in her chest, almost racing, even as her gaze darted up at the girl’s face, and – oh, yeah. There was no mistaking it, even from the one picture she’d seen.

A sculpted defined jaw, skin that was just as flawless porcelain at it had been in the picture, with full pink lips, and a softly sloping nose. But it was the eyes that made her breath catch. The picture hadn’t been able to do them justice, the brilliant blue that they were.

And they’d landed right on her, staring wide in shock.

A shock that Margaery refused to mirror on her own face, keeping her features schooled, even as her mind was yelling at herself.

_Seven hells!_

Margaery always had a backup plan, or managed to figure one out quickly. Ned Stark goes missing? She finds out how to track him down. Ned Stark’s daughter turns out to be Sansa, the girl who not only knew about the sexuality that she worked hard to keep very private around other politicians, but _explicitly_ knew the ins and outs of Margaery’s experiences…

It was enough to make her head spin, and for the first time, she felt a small jolt of panic dart through her. This was so far from her realm of what to expect, that she found herself speechless for a few seconds. Which, alone, was enough to startle her into action.

Shaking her head slightly, she made sure her smile was kept in place.

Thankfully, though, Ned stepped in, clearing his throat, “This is my oldest daughter, Sansa.”

“Sansa _Stark_ ,” she murmured, the name flowing easily, smoothly from her lips. It had a nice ring to it.

She didn’t take her eyes from Sansa’s face. Sansa, who… was still staring at her, eyes wide, cheeks blushing a profuse red. Gods, of course Sansa blushed like that! In another situation, Margaery might have found it cute.

Actually, she did find it cute.

But this was not the time and certainly not the place. She wished she could mentally communicate with Sansa to just… get through the next few minutes, without outing Margaery or saying anything that implicated, well, anything.

“Margaery?” her name fell from Sansa’s lips in a soft, mystified question.

And Margaery wanted to squeeze her eyes closed for a few moments, just to gather her thoughts at whatever train wreck this was turning into. But she didn’t – couldn’t – and instead, she finally dragged her eyes away from the younger woman, and looked at her father.

Who looked between the two of them inquisitively, “You two know one another?”

He settled the question on Sansa, who coughed as her cheeks were still stained red, “I – um – yes. Kind of. I mean, we…”

Sweet Sansa, she realized at that moment, had not only not been with a woman, but was either not out to her family or was not comfortable enough with them to talk about her endeavors on a dating site.

Either way, Margaery could work with that, and Sansa only stammered for a moment before she cleared her throat to get their attention, “We met here, once. Jeyne mixed up our orders, and gave me Sansa’s tea by mistake.”

She threw the barista a look, who was watching the exchange with an enthralled smile. It was no wonder that she’d been so excited by Margaery’s arrival in the coffee shop – as far as she knew by Sansa’s own description, Jeyne loved this kind of thing.

Jeyne shrugged, unabashedly, “Yeah, I stepped right into the middle of their meeting, Mr. Stark. You wouldn’t believe it.”

Finally, at that comment, Sansa’s wide eyes left Margaery, and she threw a glare at Jeyne. Who, though she clearly pushed boundaries, didn’t say anything farther.

“That’s Jeyne, always making a mess of situations that she has no business being involved in,” Sansa bit out, but then shook her head, and those startlingly blue eyes flickered back to Margaery, “I… what are you doing here?”

It was strange, she found, being addressed by Sansa in person. With an intense attention she’d both expected and wondered about. She gave her a small smile, “I was getting a cup of coffee.”

“Margaery works at the Red Keep,” Ned explained, and Margaery couldn’t be happier that he seemed rather oblivious to the atmosphere.

Realization dawned on Sansa’s face, Margaery watched it happen, and she could see the wheels turning. All of the times she’d talked about meetings, all of the hours she’d kept, it was snapping into place.

And she prayed to the gods that in that realization, Sansa was also seeing why she’d been so pointedly private.

“Oh,” Sansa muttered, staring at her for a moment, before another blush crept up her neck.

Margaery had hit on this woman, this tall, gorgeous woman standing in front of her. The woman who knew her as a lesbian – who was somewhat of a friend to her. Who was also the daughter of a very important politician, who Margaery wanted to win favor with. It was a strange, and unpredictable clashing of her worlds. Worlds that she’d never intended to or wanted to bring together.

Her façade didn’t fade at all, her expression still unchanged, even as her thoughts were running a mile a minute. What was clear, though, was that she needed to leave before anything was said or done to clue Ned Stark in to the weirdness around him.

She stepped forward to offer her hand to him, “It was nice to see you again, Mr. Stark.”

He shook her hand briefly, returning her sentiment.

And then she turned to Sansa, who met her eyes, looking down at her softly, before long lashes fluttered slightly, and blue eyes darted to the floor, “It was nice to meet you, Margaery.”

Sansa’s voice was soft, almost as soft as the hand she offered. She reveled in it, the dry, warm softness of her palm against her own, long fingers clasping around hers for a brief moment. The contact made her shiver, and she was surprised at her own reaction, eyes widening as her stomach dropped out.

But then she cleared her throat and pulled back, composing herself, as she shot Sansa a small smirk, “Don’t you mean nice to meet you again?”

Sansa’s eyes darted to her father, “Um, yes. Exactly that.”

“I should be going. I’ve a meeting soon,” it was a lie, an easy one, though. With a deep breath, Margaery stepped back and offered a wave, “Have a good afternoon.”

“Good luck,” Sansa murmured, and Margaery’s gaze snapped to her. Sansa, for her part, didn’t even realize she’d said it, until her eyes went wide, then closed tightly, before she swallowed hard, “I just – in your meeting. Good luck.”

It was strange, yes, but Margaery felt her lips tick up into an inevitable smirk, one she often wore when texting the younger girl, “Thank you.”

"Bye, Margaery! It was a pleasure seeing you!" Jeyne's voice followed her as she started to walk.

With a measured expression, she turned to face her, "A pleasure," she echoed, and decided resolutely that everything Sansa had told her about Jeyne was definitely true.

She shook her head as she left the café, and she only allowed herself to look back once the door closed behind her. Sansa was staring at her, still clearly feeling shocked – as much, if not more, than Margaery felt.

With a lift of her eyebrow, Margaery took a deep breath and shook out her shoulders as she walked away.

Out of every scenario she could have thought of, running into _Sansa_ , who happened to be Sansa _Stark_ , the daughter of Ned _Stark_ , _Warden of the North_ … hadn’t been on any list of possibilities.

And now she had to figure out how in seven hells to handle it. Though she fancied herself to have a plan for everything, she truly hadn't thought to have a plan for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think!


	5. A State of Confusion

Sansa was lying on her back, staring up at her ceiling, as indecision warred inside of her. Her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth as she argued with herself.

She _wasn’t_ going to go.

But she’d already promised her dad that she would.

Only, she really couldn’t go.

Except, she’d reassured her mom that she didn’t mind going, weeks ago!

What would she even _tell_ her dad? He’d be at her apartment in less than an hour to pick her up.

A groan worked its way out of her throat, and she reached above her head to grab a pillow and pull it over her face. The fundraiser had been on her dad’s schedule for this trip for months now, she knew. And she also knew that if she canceled, it would not only look bad for her dad, but he would be even more miserable at the event than he was already going to be as it was.

Plus, it wasn’t often that she got to spend much time with him. Even when she lived at home, her dad was often busy. He worked long hours, and when he _did_ have free time, he had five other kids along with her to worry about spending time with, too.

Since moving to King’s Landing, she only saw him a handful of times every year. So, on that level, she’d even been looking forward to this event for the last couple of weeks; ever since her mother called to ask if she’d mind accompanying her dad because her latest deadline for her new book was moved up, and her dad would probably cancel with that much notice rather than go alone, despite rarely ever being in the capital for these kinds of events as it was.

Her mom would be disappointed in her for breaking these plans last moment, her dad would be in for a miserable night alone with the _unscrupulous, scheming southern politicians_ – as she’d heard him refer to them. Only ever in the privacy of his own study, of course, but still – and she would miss out on a rare night she got to spend with her father.

By all of those accounts, she had no reason to cancel.

But there was one reason to make up an excuse, cancel at the last minute, and spend her Friday night at home and catching up on her shows, pretending that nothing was amiss.

That one reason was person-shaped and sized, and named Margaery.

Sansa didn’t even have enough energy in her to jump from her surprise when her bedroom door swung open, Jeyne’s voice ringing out, “Should I wear my red dress with my fuck-me heels or leggings, with those sexy boots you have, that you will – of course – let me borrow, for my date tonight?”

Without moving the pillow from other her face, she considered the options for a moment before answering, “The leggings.”

She didn’t bother with directing her where to find the boots; Jeyne knew very well where they were. She’d borrowed them enough times.

Despite her muffled advice, she didn’t hear her friend go to take the boots. Instead, she felt her weight sink into the bed next to her, before fingers plucked at the hem of her t-shirt insistently, “And what are _you_ wearing to that fancy fundraiser tonight? Shouldn’t you be all ready to go by now?”

Sansa didn’t have to look at the time to know, that _yes_ , she should be dressed and ready to go already. That it was already after six, that her dad was going to be at the apartment at seven to pick her up, and that he was never late.

As nonchalantly as she could manage, she shrugged, “I don’t know if I’m going to go, actually.”

Of course, no one could actually appear unflappable when they had a damn pillow on their face, but she had to roll with the punches.

Jeyne poked her big toe into Sansa’s shin, needling, “ _You_? Miss manners, cancelling this event at the last – oh, wait.”

At her friend’s abrupt cut-off, Sansa was curious enough to move the pillow, and was met with a large, annoyingly smug smile. One that she didn’t want to see, and she sighed, dropping the pillow back into place, “Shut. Up.”

“She’s going to be there, isn’t she? _Magnificent Margaery_ ,” she sang out, entirely too delighted.

She was, in fact, entirely too delighted about everything that had happened in the last day. Even though they’d only seen each other in passing, given that Sansa had been out the previous night with her dad and that Jeyne had worked all day today, Jeyne had managed to slip in Margaery’s name with a ridiculous amount of lascivious grins.

Her silence was enough of an answer for her friend.

Who squealed in excitement, ripping the pillow away from her face, so that big blue eyes blinked up at her, “You _have_ to go!”

Sansa stared at her, honestly unsure – and not for the first time – of her friend’s mental stability, “After yesterday? How can I face her?”

“How can you _not_?” Jeyne looked absolutely baffled, and Sansa rolled her eyes, exasperation welling up inside of her.

Her disbelief was enough to propel her into pushing herself up onto her elbow so that they were on the eye level, “Jeyne, really. She – she knows everything about my love life –”

“You don’t have a love life,” Jeyne interjected.

Other than an irritated eye roll, she ignored it, “She knows my awkwardness, my anxiety around women; my sexuality, at all! She knows _everything_ , and she – she works with my dad!” The idea of it all consumed her thoughts, and had since the previous afternoon. The anxiety that it caused made her hands shake, even now.

With a huff, she sat up completely, hair falling over her shoulders and shielding her face, “She’s going to be there tonight, I bet – looking great and poised and in control, just like yesterday, and I’m going to be a damn fool. Again.” She could _see_ herself yesterday in the café, in her mind, and she shook her head at herself. She was beyond embarrassed, “Just standing there, stuttering like an _idiot_. I can’t have that happen again!”

She was positive that it would. Because just seeing Margaery yesterday had been enough to make her chest seize up, breath catching in her lungs. All she’d been able to do was _stare_ , because… Margaery’s picture really hadn’t done her justice. Her picture hadn’t done her justice, and Sansa’s _dad_ had been there with them, while Jeyne grinned like a maniac, and Sansa could barely get a word out as her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest.

And, in the midst of all of that, Margaery had just looked calm and cool, a small, polite smile on her face the whole time. Being able to step in with a lie about how they knew each other, while Sansa had been stammering, unable to string a thought together.

It was obvious that she was the only one here seeing this situation clearly, because Jeyne clapped her hands together, a gleam that Sansa recognized and didn’t trust in her eyes, “Sansa Stark, you are going to get your nice ass up, get dressed, and go to see Margaery at this dinner to support the elderly or whatever.”

“It’s a charity for an orphanage,” she corrected absently, because that kind of detail wasn’t something she’d expect Jeyne to remember. Not when she evidently had so many other details she was focused on.

Jeyne rolled her eyes, “Not the point.”

Throwing her hair over her shoulder, Sansa shook her head in agitation, “Then what is the point? _You_ just want me to go to this thing to see Margaery, who – ugh.” She cut herself off with a groan and slapped her hand onto the bed next to her.

She had no idea where Margaery was in… whatever was happening right now. Because she hadn’t heard from her since the day before, and the lack of texts told Sansa – well, she wasn’t sure what it told her, but it wasn’t good. Honestly, Sansa had hardly been able to process her side of things, let alone Margaery’s.

Jeyne ignored her inner strife, giving her a wide grin, “Sansa, the perfect situation has fallen into your lap!”

Well. That was enough to bring the war happening in her head to a halt, and she stared incredulously at her friend, “Are you kidding me?”

“Look. You’ve been circling around Margaery for like a month, you wanted to get to know her better, and this is your chance. It’s not like she can avoid you now,” she reasoned, and… Sansa didn’t know if she was going crazy or what, but Jeyne was making more sense than usual. Until, the grin on her face turned lecherous, “Besides, she’s definitely not going to want to avoid you when she sees you all dressed up.”

It was the fact that she could picture the way Margaery smirked at her – sure and smooth – that made Sansa blush, and she fell back down onto her bed, muttering, “You don’t know that.”

“Uh, yeah, I do. Were _you_ behind the counter, watching her check out your ass? Let me think: no,” Jeyne asserted, speaking with authority that she had no right to have.

The idea that what she was saying was actually true made her heart race for a few moments, which just exacerbated the fact that she _could not_ go. Cheeks flushing, she shook her head, “Yeah, I’m definitely not going to this thing with _my dad_ where this _gorgeous_ woman is going to be, who knows all about my being bisexual, and is going to make me swallow my tongue, thinking about whether or not she’s going to check out my ass.”

For some unintelligible reason, this just made Jeyne grin wider, practically exuberant while being devious. Sansa knew she didn’t want to know what was going on in her mind. Not that that would stop Jeyne from letting her know, “You’re going to get your nice ass up from this bed and get ready to go, and do you want to know why?”

Sansa sighed, stretching her arms above her head, as she answered honestly, “Not really.”

Mostly, she would rather Jeyne leave to go on her date, and let Sansa stew in what was happening from the comfort of her own bedroom.

Jeyne hopped up from her bed and then reached for Sansa’s hands to haul her up, “Too bad. You’re my best friend; you know me better than anyone. What exactly do _you_ think I’m going to do if you call your dad and make up some bullshit lie about being sick or something, and leaving him in the lurch?”

Sansa toyed for a moment with pretending she had no idea what path Jeyne was on, but that would have been an abject lie. For better or for worse, she’d known her for too long to not know. Tilting her head to the side, she sighed as resignation was starting to take over, “I imagine that you’ll cancel your date to volunteer to accompany my father in my stead, like the truly disturbed person I know you to be.”

“Well, this guy is a dime a dozen, and your dad’s a very attractive and distinguished older man,” Jeyne wasn’t even joking, and Sansa could see that.

And Sansa choked out a laughing groan even as she reached up to hit her friend with her pillow, “I hate when you say stuff like that.”

Now, her friend laughed, the sound was loud and booming between them, before she calmed with a sigh and triumphantly placed her hands on her hips, “Well, I hate it when you refuse to even admit that you’re the slightest bit excited to see Magnificent Margaery again. So, either you’re going or I’m going. Take your pick.”

There was no choice in that matter, and they both knew it.

It was only an hour later that found Sansa hurrying toward the entrance of the building. She’d already taken it in, the large, nicely lit and decorated venue, located in a rather swanky area in the capital. Though she’d never been to this exact place, she’d been to enough of these events over the years to not feel out of place.

Once upon a time – when she’d been barely a teenager – lavish events like this, filled with wealthy, important people from all over the country, had been something she dreamed about. She’d been the only one of her siblings who actually liked to attend parties and formal dinners and fundraisers.

The glamor had faded, though, when she’d gotten a bit older and seen that the wealthy, important people weren’t the people she’d idolized them to be. It had become especially evident when she’d dated Joffrey, whose family had lived in King’s Landing, and thus attended and hosted more parties and dinners with these _glamorous_ people in a couple of months than Sansa’s parents did in a year.

But even after her disillusionment, Sansa remained the Stark child that enjoyed these events the most, who did the best at remembering who was who, and what she should say.

Hopefully she could do that tonight, even when she saw Margaery.

With a deep breath to try to calm her nerves, she held her hands against her stomach, pressing into the soft material as if it would help relax her. The dress she’d ended up in was chosen after a debate with Jeyne, and was a compromise. Sansa refused to wear one of her dresses that wrapped tightly around her hips, cleavage, and/or butt, nor would she wear one that only reached mid-thigh.

But she’d conceded that she also wouldn’t wear one of her more conservative choices, either.

So, she’d ended up in what was actually one of her favorites. A royal blue color, with soft fabric that was snug over her abdomen and had a modest neckline, but that left her shoulders and arms bare. It belted at the waist, and the skirt fell loosely to just above her knees. She’d flat out refused to wear the shoes Jeyne wanted her to wear – fucking _stilettos_ , yeah, right – and instead wore flats.

She’d run a straightener through her hair quickly, leaving it down and over her shoulders. Even if she’d wanted to do something with it, she’d had no time. As it was, she’d called her dad and told him that she would meet him at the fundraiser, rather than him picking her up, because it would give her a little more time to get ready.

But she was now cutting it close, as they were supposed to be inside and seated within the next few minutes. There were only a few people still milling around out on the front terrace, and it was easy to spot her father among them.

Seeing him outside of the large double doors that were open enough to let echoes of conversation spill out, looking vaguely uncomfortable with his hands in his suit pockets, waiting for her made her smile. It didn’t make her apprehension disappear, but it did comfort her, just a bit.

Enough that she steadied her hands as she approached, “I’m sorry I’m a little late.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he gave her an appraising look, “Are you feeling all right?”

_No, actually, I feel as though I might be sick because you don’t know it, but I’m bisexual, and the woman who has been acting as my secretive online lesbian guru is basically your coworker, and she’s so gorgeous it’s almost painful_.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, blue eyes closing to push her thoughts to the back of her mind. Clearing her throat, she reiterated, “Truly, I’m feeling okay. I was just running behind schedule, and I didn’t want to have to make you come all of the way to get me.”

He accepted her words with a nod, but she didn’t miss the fact that his concerned look didn’t fade completely, “I don’t like the idea of you walking around the city, alone, though.”

Now as she rolled her eyes, she felt more at-ease than she had in over a day. Exasperated, she teased, “You _do_ know that I live here in this city, right? I walk alone here every day.”

Her dad just gave her a _look_ , “As if that makes me feel any less worried.”

It made her chuckle, quietly, because worrying about her – and her siblings, in their own right – was both of her parent’s most common pastime. And she was a prime candidate for that worry; even more so than Arya, in their dad’s presence of mind. Sansa would never be able to forget the many, many lectures she’d received upon choosing to attend King’s Landing University.

Ned had tried hard to convince her to go to school somewhere farther north, even if it was to a school in the Vale, like where he’d gone. Her mother hadn’t been as concerned about her being in the south so much as just not wanting her to be far from home.

As it was, there was Jon who’d chosen to go even _further_ north, to be a ranger in the northern woods. Robb was – and always would be – situated and happy to work and live at home, not even really moving away to go to college, as he’d chosen to go to the local university in Winter Town. Bran was attending his college for geniuses up in The Gift, and Rickon still lived at home.

Arya had moved away, but hadn’t truly settled – she went where her career would take her. South to King’s Landing or overseas to Braavos, and to multitudes of places in between. Sansa was the only one who’d _settled_ out of their families’ region, beyond the comfort of the North.

However, she didn’t want to hear anymore lectures on the matter – or stress her dad out any more than he already stressed – and she linked her arm through his, “Don’t worry about me, dad.” She spared a look through the doors, only for a second, eyes dancing over everyone she could see for a few moments. But no one stuck out. Margaery wasn’t among them, which gave her the courage she needed, “Should we go in before we’re late?”

His voice was gruff, “I guess so.” But instead of walking in, he bent down slightly, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead, much like he’d done when she was younger, “You look beautiful.”

It was something they had, the two of them, moments of small affection. It wasn’t as though any of her brothers would welcome warm hugs or kisses on the forehead from their father, nor would Arya, in a million years. It was something that had been just theirs, and the familiarity of it made the tension seep out of her shoulders. It wasn’t difficult to smile up at him, running her hand down her skirt, “Thank you. Is that the tie mom got you for Christmas last year? It looks nice.”

He reached up and tugged at it, only slightly, with a small grimace that she knew was entirely legitimate, but his obvious discomfort made her giggle, “Yes. I would say that I’d let her know she made a good choice, but I think she already knows,” he gave her a wry grin.

“She always does,” she agreed quietly, still smiling, and in that moment, she was glad she’d come. She didn’t get times like this terribly often.

Ned took a deep breath, “Let’s go.” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders in a way that she’d seen him do many times. Always when it came to business and political events, and she’d always thought that him dreading a party or a dinner more than important meetings that he took fairly frequently was so odd.

But she felt herself squaring her own shoulders now in a mirroring move, and for once, she understood.

With that feeling of nerves settling in the pit of her stomach again, they walked in. She moved the way her mother had always taught her to in times such as this, with poise and purpose, and she seamlessly, unconsciously knew her courtesies. Nodding and smiling as they passed people that she’d met in passing over the years, as they did the same to her.

True to form, her dad didn’t stop to talk to them. It was something her mother might have chastised him for, but Sansa was perfectly fine with it. Plus, they truly were cutting it close to when they were supposed to be formally seated.

As they arrived at the entrance of the ballroom, they drew up next to a man in a tuxedo, who then directed them where their seated arrangement was.

Unable to stop herself, Sansa let her dad lead her to their table as she searched through the crowd of people. Most of whom were sitting already at their tables, engaging in conversation, though there were a few standing, lingering around the bar areas, mingling.

She saw several people she knew, but no Margaery. Which was as relieving as it was… disappointing, and she rolled her eyes at herself. Here she’d been, nerves wracked all day long at the prospect of running into Margaery, but – damn Jeyne for being right – she had been thrilled by the prospect, too.

With a deep breath, she pulled herself together as best as she could. Because spending the night stressing about and thinking about Margaery was silly, and she was here with her dad, to keep him company.

It was just in time, too, as they arrived at their designated table, which was already half filled. Half filled with people she knew, for that matter, though there would still be two empty seats after she and her father sat down.

Myranda Royce was out of her chair in a second, bounding over to her with exuberance, “Sansa!”

The small, practiced smile she’d worn as soon as they’d entered the building became genuine seconds before she was engulfed by the older girl, “Randa, how are you?”

Myranda’s considerable… assets were – as always – fairly on display, and – as always – she exuded confidence as she pulled back, “I’m fabulous, of course. I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“My mother was supposed to come, but she was busy at home,” she offered as an explanation, which was relatively true, just without detail. “I didn’t know you’d be here, either.”

Myranda waved her hand back and forth lightly, “Oh, of course. I’ve been visiting the city for a few weeks, and dad’s a big supporter of the orphanage, so, here we are.”

Randa was shorter than she was, so it was no issue for Sansa to see beyond her to the rest of the group they were to be sitting with, even before she started to move back to her chair. Sansa followed, nodding first in the direction of Myranda’s father, “Mr. Royce, it’s nice to see you.”

The large man gave her a smile, “Sansa! We were expecting your mother, but what better substitute is there?”

“Thank you,” she accepted it as the compliment he intended, and really, there were fewer things Sansa felt could be said that made her feel more flattered than comparisons to her mom. Then blue eyes darted to the other occupants, landing first on an older woman, with graying hair, “Mrs. Waynwood, you look very nice.”

The older woman, who she was more or less just as familiar with as she was with the Royce family, gave her a warm smile, “You’re as beautiful as ever, Sansa. Are you well?”

“Quite, yes. Thank you,” she answered, distracted slightly as Myranda drew out the chair next to her, patting it for Sansa to sit down, and her dad seated himself in the chair on the opposite side of her intended, right next to the Anya.

She sat down, catching her dad’s eye with a grin as she could see him breathe a sigh of relief. There were fewer people her father would have been more comfortable sitting with at one of these functions. Barring men and women from the North itself, those from the Vale were people her father would be most comfortable with.

She wondered if that had been an accident, or if these seating arrangements were made with deliberate, thoughtful, precise accuracy. She couldn’t imagine the event planner going to so much trouble, but it seemed like it was a big coincidence.

Her dad was already starting to talk to Nestor Royce and Anya when Sansa realized that the man sitting next to Mrs. Waynwood wasn’t one of her sons, as she’d assumed when she couldn’t see his face, as it had been downturned and looking at his phone.

No, it was Harry, and Sansa caught her cringe before it could truly show itself on her face, even as her stomach churned uncomfortably. She bit back her sigh and fixed on as polite of a smile as she could, “Harry, it’s… nice to see you here.”

The smirk that quirked up his lips was smug and irritating, “Aren’t you looking good?”

It was his wink that made her grit her teeth, annoyance welling up inside of her.

There were fewer people she’d rather _not_ be sitting with. She’d had a hopeless crush on Harry when she’d been a teenager, which she could excuse herself for. He was slightly older and extremely handsome, with his chiseled face and blue eyes and muscular body. It was everything that happened beyond her crush that she’d forgiven herself for, but not him.

Of course, her teenage-self hadn’t been the most subtle of people, and he’d taken great pleasure in taking advantage of her crush during the summer that he’d spent working at Winterfell. Pleasures that included but were not limited to pushing her at a fast pace to go farther than she’d wanted to go physically, and convincing her that while they couldn’t be in a legitimate relationship because he was going to be returning to the Vale, it didn’t mean they weren’t _together_. Secretly.

It had gone on like that for quite a bit of time, until she’d finally ended it just before graduating from high school, because she’d heard that he’d gotten a girl in the Vale pregnant. Another girl who he was _secretly_ dating, no doubt.

She’d still never told her family about anything between them, as it would be been useless and awkward. Only Jeyne had known, and had been ready to kill him. Literally. In the years since, she’d only seen him a handful of times. Each one being extremely unpleasant and brief.

Instead of thanking him, as her manners told her that she should, she narrowed her eyes, “And what are you doing here?” it was said in as civil a tone as she could manage.

But Sansa knew for a fact that he didn’t give a care for any orphanage.

His smirk remained firmly in place as he answered, “Mrs. Waynwood needed someone to accompany her.”

“And there was no one else?” she asked the question lightly, almost jokingly, but not quite.

Luckily, the only person that caught it, aside from Harry, was Myranda, who turned to look at her suddenly, a questioning, mirthful look in her eyes. It made her feel somewhat satisfied when the smirk fell from Harry’s face, and he turned back to his phone.

It should have been a dead giveaway, anyway; none of Mrs. Waynwood’s sons would have had the bad manners to use their phone while they were sitting here like this.

Myranda slid her glass of champagne closer to Sansa, “Here, drink a bit to get that scowl off of your face. After we sit through the inevitably dull speeches, the bar will be open game and then we can really have some fun.”

Sansa _truly_ doubted she was going to be having fun tonight, but she reached for her champagne anyway, “Lovely,” was all she managed before she took a sip.

“Ah, and here are our final companions!” Randa called loud enough to garner the rest of the table’s attention, and Sansa looked along with them to just beyond the empty chairs opposite her and her father.

Where Margaery was walking – no, not walking. _Striding_ – toward them.

She wore a green dress that was tight at her chest and her hips, stopping mid-thigh, and leaving the rest of her legs bare. Long and soft-looking, and she was wearing the kind of heels that made her legs look… like they didn’t even belong in this world.

Sansa skimmed her gaze up, feeling slightly dazed as she took in her bare shoulders, up her slender neck, taking in her deceptively simple looking done-up hair that allowed a few curly tendrils to fall around her face. Before she landed on her face, taking in the subtle makeup, small smile, and honeyed brown eyes.

That landed right on her.

The champagne she’d been about to swallow abruptly went down the wrong tube, and she felt herself choke on it, spluttering out a cough that drew the attention to her instead.

Gods, somehow in the time that she’d been stewing in her dislike for Harry, she’d forgotten that she’d needed to be on the lookout for Margaery! Even if she had been still looking for her, she doubted she could have been prepared.

She was certain that _no one_ could be prepared for _that_.

“Sansa! Are you okay?” Randa’s voice was loud, and her hand was insistent as it hit her on the back.

It only made her cough more, eyes watering, as her heart pounded against her ribs. And it wasn’t doing that for lack of oxygen, either.

How did someone manage to look classy and dignified, yet… _sexy_ , at the same time? She wondered as she stared up at Margaery, and as soon as the thought hit her, blue eyes widened in shock.

Damn it all to the seven hells, _this_ was the whole reason she hadn’t wanted to come tonight in the first place! Because Margaery had only been in her presence for three seconds, and Sansa was already a mess.

It was only when she felt her dad’s gentle hand on her shoulder that she realized she hadn’t said anything, and she weakly managed, “I’m fine.” She took in as deep of a breath as she could with her stomach twisting into knots, “It – went down the wrong way.”

Everyone seemed appeased with her answer, save for her dad, who kept his worried eyes on her for a few more seconds. She couldn’t have thought of any other time that she would have wanted him to give her _less_ attention ever in her life.

But when she was choking because the woman who she’d met on a gay dating site, who had explained euphemisms to her about eating out other women, among other things, was approaching the table in order to _sit right across from them_ … yeah, this was the most apt time for her to hope he would focus on something – anything – else.

He seemed convinced enough by her words, and he, like everyone else, redirected his gaze back to the two people who were apparently supposed to complete their table.

She could hear pleasantries being exchanged, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back up. Not yet. Not when she still felt as winded as that time Arya had “accidentally” roundhouse kicked her right in the stomach.

Her hands shook slightly as she reached for her glass of water, and the few careful sips she took did very little to make her cheeks feel less hot. The only thing she hoped was that she didn’t look _as_ red as her hair.

The shock and anxiety that wound through her nerves, laced with that bit of excited anticipation, steadily climbed through her, and she took a deep breath just in time to hear her dad greet, “Renly, it’s been a few years. How are you?”

Her gaze flew up to the man in question, because she’d been so distracted and unnerved by the fact that she not only was seeing Margaery, but was apparently sitting with her, that she hadn’t even noticed the man with her.

The man who was Renly Baratheon, someone she’d met several times in the past, but not nearly as many times as she’d met his older brother, Robert. The last time _she’d_ seen Renly was probably also the last time her father had – at Robert’s funeral.

Renly smiled warmly at her dad, “Ned, good to see you. I’m doing quite well, and yourself?”

Her dad answered, but Sansa didn’t hear it – couldn’t hear it, really – because all of her attention was on the way Renly’s arm was wrapped around Margaery’s waist. It wasn’t a tight or possessive grip, but it was one that screamed of familiarity. Something that had been done many times in the past.

And when he pulled out her chair for her, and the way she touched his hand afterward in thanks – Sansa felt like her stomach, which had been experiencing the most intense butterflies for the last few minutes – suspicion itched at the back of her neck.

She had no time to dwell on the matter, though, not when she was being addressed by Renly, “Ms. Stark, you’re looking more and more like your mother every time I’ve seen you. Beautiful, as always.”

She cleared her throat, and hoped to the gods that everything that was racing through her thoughts couldn’t be seen on her face, “I – thank you, Renly.”

It was all she could say, and she was just grateful that her voice didn’t waver.

“Sansa, it’s nice to see you again,” Margaery’s voice was smooth and sure, and Sansa was unable to not look at her again.

Thankfully this time she didn’t choke as she met bright, engaging brown eyes. Unlike yesterday, there was no sly and alluring smirk on her lips, and unlike herself there was no blush, and Sansa’s mind scrambled to wonder how she did it. She was giving her a smile, a polite one.

How Margaery could manage to look at her with the same look that she’d given Myranda and her father, as though she was just giving another greeting? Like Sansa didn’t meet her on _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros.com_ and like Margaery hadn’t flirted with her several times via text for a month?

Sansa was baffled by it – by her – as she gave her a nod and a small smile, “Yes, it’s nice to see you, too.”

And honestly, she was proud of herself for getting that out as effortlessly as she did.

She had no problem switching gears and glaring, though, when Harry turned and leaned a little past Renly in order to look at Margaery, “You are looking absolutely _exquisite_ this evening.”

It was then that Sansa realized that Margaery’s grins extended beyond coquettish smirks and polite smiles. In a move that was so slight Sansa hardly saw it, the polite smile turned cool as she turned to Harry, “I’m surprised you noticed, having been on your phone when we arrived.”

A surprised chuckle came out of the back of Sansa’s throat before she even realized it. Harry’s charming smile soured a bit, and he leaned back in his chair, as Renly then joined in with a laugh.

With a deep breath, Sansa turned to look at Margaery again. She was sitting directly in front of Sansa, but she wasn’t looking at her. Which made sense, clearly, because Margaery wasn’t here for her, but…

It was all just so strange.

“So, Sansa, the last I knew, you were studying literature at KLU. What are you doing these days?” Renly asked, and startled Sansa out of staring at the side of Margaery’s face.

Margaery, who she saw give Renly a quirked eyebrow out of the corner of her eyes. Okay, so apparently she’d not told Renly that she and Sansa texted one another, and that only added to the feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Still, she resolutely kept her gaze on Renly; there was far less of a chance that she would make a fool of herself, “I’m actually still a student. In the graduate program, now, though.”

“Still for literature?” he asked as he reached out for a glass of champagne.

“Um, yes. I’ll be graduating this year,” she mentioned, slightly distractedly, watching as he grabbed a second glass, and casually handed it to Margaery. Who took it without even needing to look. As though this was just another song and dance for them.

He shot her a warm smile, “That’s nice. Always a relief to see the light at the end of the tunnel, right?”

“Exactly,” she answered, though she didn’t necessarily agree. Sansa enjoyed her time at school, and she was rather nervous that it would be coming to an end.

She was also rather distracted with the way Margaery handed Renly his cloth napkin, right at the time that he had been about to reach for it. The way that she’d anticipated what he was going to do – and she gasped.

Once again, attention was on her and she tried to think of something to say, even as she was bombarded by the absolute _shock_ racing through her system.

“I – um, I apologize, I just thought about an assignment that I forgot about,” she offered with a feeble smile. A pathetic smile for a pathetic excuse.

But it was the best she could come up with upon the realization that Renly Baratheon was Margaery’s boyfriend – or, even worse, her _beard_! It all made perfect sense, didn’t it? That was why Margaery had been so secretive about her life when they’d been texting. Why she didn’t let on that she knew Sansa in any way. Why she’d been so adamant about never having more than a one night stand with a woman.

She was so effortless at lying because she apparently was lying to her boyfriend every day!

Sansa reached up to rub at her temple, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. She’d already been nervous about seeing Margaery tonight, and this was just making it even worse. And now she felt guilty! Because she knew about Margaery’s apparent secret, and Sansa had been _ogling_ Renly Baratheon’s girlfriend right in front of him.

His lesbian girlfriend, who had flirted with Sansa and basically offered to hook up with her, before giving her tips about dating women!

If she thought she could get away with it, she would have buried her face in her hands; she wanted to. Instead, she only reached for her water glass to down the remainder of it, trying to calm herself.

She hoped that the conversation had turned elsewhere, but it was apparently still on her, as Renly asked, “So, what are your plans after graduation?”

Feeling herself flush, she shrugged, and she knew it was shaky, “Oh, well, I’m still figuring things out.”

Her dad placed his hand on her shoulder, “We’ve been trying to convince her to move back home for years,” he joked, but-not-really.

She could see his concerned look out of the corner of her eye, and if her cover wasn’t doing enough to fool her dad, then she was hardly going to fool anyone else. So she took a deep breath to quell the myriad of emotions in her stomach and questions in her head, and fixed on a smile, “But that’s probably not going to happen.”

“Do you work, as well?”

The question snagged all of her attention, because this time it wasn’t Renly but Margaery. _Margaery_ was addressing her, in a gracious but inquisitive tone, with a simple lift of a perfect eyebrow.

It was a tone and a question she’d used to address everyone else; nothing out of the ordinary.

But Sansa had to take a moment for it to register. Because Margaery _knew_ she worked, or at least that she did something other than school. Because Sansa had alluded to it during their texting in the last month!

And she was just sitting there, waiting for an answer, with a look on her face that made her look like she was the most innocent person who ever lived.

The contradiction of it all – of the stunning woman she’d been texting, who had a devious, flirtatious streak, and an air of knowing everything, and of _this_ woman sitting across from her, who was still ridiculously gorgeous but was civil and soft spoken yet still with a sharp tongue – made Sansa’s head spin.

When Myranda turned to look at her, waiting for an answer as well, Sansa realized that she’d been staring questioningly at Margaery. Her eyes widened, and she coughed before she answered, “I – kind of, yes. I’m a TA for Tyrion Lannister.”

“That sounds like it would be quite entertaining,” Margaery commented, in that well-mannered tone that gave nothing away.

Myranda scrunched up her nose, “Does it? I feel it would be quite the opposite.”

Sansa found herself smiling at Randa’s response, “No, it’s actually great a lot of the time.”

“Do you get to teach anything good?” Myranda asked, as she picked up her champagne and finished it.

Sansa knew she would be sticking to water for the remainder of the night. She shook her head, “Um, well I don’t think I’ve had a bad class. This semester, it’s Free Folk Literature, but next semester I think it’ll be Romanticism through the Ages,” which she was actually very excited for.

“Like, Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys?” Randa asked, and actually sounded fairly interested.

The tale wasn’t one of Sansa’s favorites, but she shrugged in consideration, “Perhaps that’ll be included.”

“Florian and Jonquil?” Margaery added in, which stole Sansa’s attention again.

Blue eyes stared at the woman across from her, who stared right back, but was so nonchalant about it all. Except – she _knew_ Sansa loved that.

Before she could even think of what else to say, there was a woman at the dais at the front of the room, the woman who was in charge of the fundraiser, and everyone’s attention was turning to her. Sansa could think of very few times that she’d ever been more grateful for an interruption.

As she turned to face the front of the room, she caught Margaery’s eye, and was unable to look away. Especially when Margaery winked at her.

It was a blink-and-you-miss-it moment, and Sansa was left gaping long after everyone else’s attention had diverted to the front of the room.

The subsequent speeches passed by for over an hour, but Sansa didn’t hear a word of them, because the blood was roaring too loudly in her ears, and she felt a bit lightheaded.

She tried to keep her attention on the speakers at the front of the room, at the very least she tried to keep her eyes on them. But she kept finding herself glancing across the table at Margaery. Who looked cool and composed, and like she was giving her utmost attention to the people talking about the charity and the orphanage.

Sansa hadn’t imagined that, right? Margaery really did _wink_ at her, when her… bearding boyfriend – bearded beard? – was sitting right there next to her?

She gave Margaery another look, taking advantage of the fact that no one was truly paying attention to her, because she couldn’t not stare, for just a few seconds. Because now, the two Margaery’s were mingling together as one, and it was like the Margaery she’d known for the last month – flirty, all-knowing, surprisingly thoughtful Margaery – was there, hidden under Margaery-the-politician.

It was honestly damning for her to not have figured that out beforehand; she’d been around politicians all of her life. She knew they wore masks. And now, she was less nervous about Margaery’s and more intrigued.

She’d barely she’d barely collected all of her thoughts, when the speeches ended. She knew that this was the time for mingling – people would get up to chat, drink, and donate. This was truly her father’s least favorite thing to do.

Sansa hadn’t been looking forward to it, either. But now, she kind of wanted a chance to be able to talk to Margaery face-to-face. An actual conversation, unlike the strange dancing around conversations they’d had in the last day and a half since meeting one another.

“This is my favorite part,” Myranda half-whispered into her ear, making her jump from surprise. “All of the eligible men…”

Her friend used a teasing tone, but Sansa knew she was serious, and she turned to look at her with a disbelieving smile, “Randa! You’re here with your _dad_.”

Myranda just cocked her head to the side in question, “Exactly,” her lips quirked into a mischievous smile, “My dad, not a date. All of the men are here are ripe for a picking.”

The imagery made Sansa crinkle her nose, “I meant more along the lines of, how can you pick someone up with you’re here with one of your parents. But okay.”

Randa laughed, and shook her head, “Do you want to come with me?”

Sansa could think of many things she would rather be doing than help Myranda pick up men at this fundraiser, and she quickly shook her head.

“Your loss,” Myranda shrugged, and then shot her a wink before she stood to go on her hunt.

Sansa watched her go for a moment. Two winks. But only one of them had made her hands shake, and with that, she turned back to where Margaery was sitting. Or, where Margaery had been sitting.

It was empty now, along with Renly’s seat.

Sansa had turned away for only a minute, and she was gone!

“Sansa, I’m going to speak to the woman – that last speaker,” her dad informed her, and she knew that this was where he would donate, rather than go through all of the steps of intermingling with the other guests.

“Okay,” she murmured, and she didn’t even think for a moment that she should have gone with him, until he got up and was joined by Mrs. Waynwood and Mr. Royce.

Which left her at the table with Harry, and the nervous anticipation and excitement that had crawled back to life inside of her started to rapidly fade as he leaned forward, a lewd smile on his face, “Just you and I, now. What do you say –”

“No,” she cut off, quickly, before standing up, “Whatever you’re going to say, it’s a no.”

With that, she walked away, with no direction in mind. She still couldn’t decide if she was glad Jeyne forced her to come or if she should have stayed home. On the one hand, she hated seeing Harrold Hardyng for any reason, she was more interested in Margaery than she was before, and she’d had to live through several embarrassing moments.

On the other hand, she’d liked to see her dad and Myranda, Margaery had winked at her, and she was more interested in Margaery than she was before.

She only left the main hall with the intention of going out to get some fresh air, because she didn’t intend to ditch her father when he was done talking to that woman. Unlike earlier, when they’d gone into the ballroom and there had been several people milling about the grand hall, there was now no one.

It was rather eerie, and Sansa brought her hands up, rubbing them slight up and down her arms.

And then small but strong hands gripped her arm and pulled her into a small alcove, and Sansa stumbled over her feet. She was pressed against a wall, and panic came swiftly and easily. Ready to scream, she felt fingertips land over her bottom lip, before a becoming-familiar voice whispered, “Shhh.”

“ _Margaery_?” her name came out in an unintentional whisper, and as she spoke, Margaery’s fingertips gently brushed over her moving lips.

The feeling of it made something inside of her spark, her breath came a little shorter, and the shock of it had her pulling her head back. Enough that she hit it against the wall, and she grimaced in pain.

“Were you looking for me?” Margaery asked, and her voice was quiet, but both curious and amused. She lowered her hand slowly, rubbing her fingertips with her thumb.

Baffled and still a little dazed, Sansa shook her head slowly, as her eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the alcove. She hadn’t _been_ this close to Margaery before. Close enough to smell her perfume – which was something subtle and floral and kind of enchanting – and see that her skin was literally perfect.

Finally, she breathed out, “No, I – I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

After all, the last hour or so had been surprisingly taxing on her mental state.

Margaery quirked an eyebrow, leaning back a few inches, “I see. Then I apologize for dragging you in here and scaring a few days off your life,” she added, in a teasing tone that made Sansa flush, and her stomach jump.

“More like a few months, but, um, you don’t have to apologize,” she told her, and slouched back against the wall, her palms brushing down the sides of the skirt of her dress.

That smirk – the same one from her picture on the website, the one she’d given Sansa on the sly at the café – returned to her face, and Sansa wondered if Margaery knew that there was power in that smirk, “No?”

Oh. Oh boy, she definitely did know, and she felt her heart skip a beat, “I – um, I don’t…”

Then Margaery laughed. It was a quiet chuckle, and it sounded genuine, as she took a step back from Sansa. She couldn’t feel her body heat anymore, and a breath of relief left Sansa because she could _breathe_ now, as Margaery told her, “I’m glad you’re like that in real life. The blushing, and all. But you don’t have to worry, Sansa. I’m not going to jump you.”

She gave her another wink, and _there it was_ , that feeling that Sansa had just narrowly avoided a life-threatening accident, and she felt heat creep up her cheeks, “Um, about that. I wanted you to know, that… I’m not going to say anything. To your boyfriend,” she added, rushing the words out and cringing at herself because she hadn’t meant to bring this topic up like that.

Instead of looking relieved, like she thought she would, Margaery’s eyebrows came together in confusion, “My… boyfriend?”

“Or –” she couldn’t bring herself to actually label Renly as her beard out loud, so she shrugged her shoulders, exasperation coloring her tone, “ _Renly_.”

Whatever she’d thought Margaery might say or do – and she truly had no idea at this point – she hadn’t expected the older woman to give her look with those big, doe eyes… before throwing her head back and laughing. Actually laughing, little giggles escaping in a way that Sansa hadn’t imagined, and she didn’t know Margaery could be _cute_ , but there she was.

Still, she felt herself blush, and words kept falling out of her mouth, “So, you don’t have to worry about… that. I’m not going to say anything. To him. Or my dad. Or anyone. Except for Jeyne, because, well, she already knows everything, basically.”

Margaery’s quiet laughter died out, and Sansa was given a look that was borne of pure amusement and… well, it reminded her of the way someone might look at a baby kitten, “Sansa, sweetling, you know that I’m a lesbian, don’t you?”

The term of endearment did not go by her, and instead it served to make her blush even more, settling heavily into her stomach. But, still, she rolled her eyes and pushed out a heavy breath, “No, what a revelation.” As if hearing about Margaery’s sex life and getting her advice and being hit on by the woman hadn’t told her that enough. She soldiered on, “But, I meant, if you weren’t _out_ , and he is your – your beard or something. I won’t say anything,” she promised.

Granted, she wasn’t going to say anything especially because she would have no way to explain how she knew what she knew about Margaery’s sexuality, but she wouldn’t have said anything, otherwise, either.

“That’s very sweet of you, but –”

A door that Sansa hadn’t even known was there opened next to the alcove, and Margaery cut herself off, eyes lighting up in a way that was captivating.

And after a few seconds, Sansa realized that she hadn’t even asked… “Why were y–”

The rest of her question was killed the second Margaery reached up and pressed her soft hand gently but firmly against Sansa’s mouth. She stepped even closer to Sansa, the fronts of their bodies _this close_ to touching, and Sansa’s heartbeat was positively thundering in her ears as she stared at Margaery with wide, questioning eyes. Her hands shook slightly, but, well, forget the fact that she'd obviously never been this close to Margaery; she'd never been this close to any woman who she'd been consciously attracted to. Aside from that one, drunk kiss.

Margaery, though, had a determined glint in her eyes, and she held her other hand up, index finger in front of her lips, indicating that Sansa had to be quiet, as if the hand over her mouth didn’t indicate that enough.

It was confusing and exhilarating and Sansa wondered what the seven hells was happening, but her eyes didn’t leave Margaery, who was listening intently to the conversation happening merely feet away.

“I thank you for your support, Mr. Baelish,” a female voice said, a voice that sounded familiar, but Sansa was too focused on the fact that Margaery was _right there_ and not moving and wondering what in the world was going on to try to connect any dots.

She did, however, know the voice that answered her, “Of course. This is an opportunity that shouldn’t be passed up, and we both know that she already has some strong supporters in her corner.”

Petyr Baelish – who she, thankfully, couldn’t see and who, even more thankfully, couldn’t see her – spoke in a grimly amused way.

The woman with him laughed in a cold, humorless way, “Yes, she does indeed. I must get back, but I trust you’ll work on my behalf in the meantime?”

“I never pegged you as one who cares much about the orphans of Flea Bottom,” he shot back.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t presume,” the woman told him, and it was clearly a dismissal.

She heard his footsteps fade, and she tried to wrap her mind around whatever conversation they’d been listening to. Because Margaery backed away from her, her eyes distant, as she clearly knew what they’d been talking about.

“Shit,” Margaery murmured under her breath, and Sansa’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Tapping her fingers twice against the cool wall behind her, she asked, “What was that?”

Instead of getting an answer, though, what she got was the sound of the door closing, and she watched as Margaery froze. Sansa did, too, because they weren’t alone anymore, not like she’d thought they were.

Instead, the saw Cersei Lannister-Baratheon poke her head around the corner, eyes narrowed. _Shit_ , if Sansa hadn’t been so distracted – and well, confused and a bit nervous – she would have placed that voice immediately.

As it was, she felt herself flush at the idea of being found hidden in this dark alcove, with Margaery, secluded away from the party. Nerves jumped from her stomach, but rather than focus on her, Cersei’s eyes landed on Margaery. Who wasn’t as shock-still as she’d been before, but was composed, standing with her arms folded against her chest.

And Sansa wondered how she could possibly do that? Because after the last few minutes, Sansa felt like she’d had so much happen, that she was going to pass out.

A slow, calculated smile slid across Cersei’s face, but the hard, mean look in her eyes was just as Sansa remembered it, “Well, well. What do we have going on here, Miss Tyrell?” she asked in a mocking tone.

But Sansa stared at the side of Margaery’s face, eyes widening, as she felt the bottom of her stomach drop to the floor. Tyrell? Margaery _Tyrell_? And it only took her a split-second to connect that dot to Olenna Tyrell, the Prime Minister, who had one granddaughter.

She braced her hand against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment, as her thoughts raced, because what the seven hells had she gotten herself into?

She blamed Jeyne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the comments, feedback, and kudos so far! It all means a lot, and thank you for reading. Feedback is always very much appreciated :)


	6. This Friend Thing

Margaery had always loved puzzles. Not just actual board game type puzzles – though she enjoyed those, too, if she was being honest – but other, less-defined puzzles. The puzzle pieces that made people tick, for example. What made someone do what they did? Why was something acting the way they were? What did they want? Were they genuine?

It was a big factor as to what had driven her into politics. Figuring out the game of it all was a big part of the draw.

Politics was a puzzle; a game. And for someone like her – someone who had specific goals and aspirations – one wrong move could make the game a nightmare. Then again, navigating that tightrope was all a part of the draw, too.

Something she’d learned far before she’d even started her professional career was that there was a long game and a short game, and, if you were a good politician, you were playing both games constantly.

Margaery’s long game was already planned, mapped, and already in the beginning stages of execution. Her short game was constantly in the balance. It was the decisions made at a moment’s notice that determined what the result of the short game was.

Loras had once bemoaned that her mind was like a machine; always whirring to life. He wasn’t wrong. The machine that was her mind was always on the move, quickly weighing options and forcing her to make decisions, sometimes with only momentary notice.

The series of events that had happened in the last ten minutes involved making split-second decisions that seemed inevitable to make; almost like there hadn’t been a choice at all, really.

She’d first spotted Cersei Lannister-Baratheon when the mingling was about to commence. And she’d been shocked, which was certainly an unwelcome feeling for her.

Margaery wouldn’t typically say she was ever _glad_ about someone’s death. Especially not a fellow politician. But when Robert Baratheon had died two years ago, she knew she wasn’t the only person who hadn’t felt particularly sorrowful.

Robert had sat on the small council for many years, being re-elected usually on the basis of the fact that he was something of a war hero. The public loved that about him, regardless of the fact that he was a bawdy, obnoxious, drunk of a man. To have him _off_ of the small council was a relieve to many, even if it had come through death.

Margaery had only known Robert Baratheon sparingly, despite the fact that he was the brother to one of her best friends, and their introduction had been the same night that she’d met Ned Stark – her grandmother’s inauguration ball. Unlike Ned Stark, though, Robert had hit on her, despite the fact that she’d been barely sixteen.

In spite of all of that, Margaery had preferred the man to his wife. Cersei Lannister-Baratheon might not have held a seat on the small council, but she’d been conniving, controlling, and had more power than someone who didn’t actually hold public office had the right to have. Without a doubt, it had to do with the fact that her father had been the Prime Minister before Margaery’s grandmother.

If conflict was, as Margaery liked to theorize, a politician’s bread and butter, Cersei provided enough of it to fill Margaery’s entire meal ticket.

There had been several people over the course of the years who underestimated Margaery. Because of her family name, because of her age, because of her looks. Those people had tried Margaery’s patience, but she always proved her worth.

She quickly learned that Cersei Lannister-Baratheon was not one of the people who would overlook their causeless disdain for her once they could see what she was capable of achieving. From her very first internship at the Red Keep, she’d butted heads with the older woman, and that continued into her years of actually working there.

So, when Robert had died, it wasn’t that Margaery was necessarily glad he was dead; it was more that she was glad his death somewhat forced Cersei to retreat back to her childhood home at Casterly Rock.

Margaery relished a challenge, but she was more than happy to have the woman who acted as her nonstop opposition out of the way.

She’d hoped that the next time she would have to see Cersei, it would be from her podium as she was sworn in as Prime Minister. 

She most definitely hadn’t hoped or planned to see the older woman at a charity function that Margaery had been using as a mingling platform at the start of her campaign for a small council seat.

If that alone wasn’t enough to throw her slightly off of her game – because _how_ had Margaery not even known that Cersei was back in King’s Landing? That was the sort of news that typically spread quickly through the Red Keep, yet there’d been not a word of it – seeing Cersei lead Petyr Baelish, a prominent business owner who was notoriously untrustworthy, out of the ballroom and into the main hall was _more_ than enough to sound the warning bells in her head.

In that moment, Margaery felt there was really no other choice but to follow her instincts that told her to follow the pair. Because Cersei resurfacing now, and choosing Baelish for a private audience had given a home to deep set suspicion in her stomach. She’d barely had a second to whisper to Renly where she was going.

That suspicion was only exacerbated when she trailed them – smartly, from a distance – and she could only hear snippets of conversation. She knew she’d heard the words _small council_ , though, and that was enough.

She’d ducked into the alcove next to the room they’d gone into – which turned out to be futile, because she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. But as she’d been waiting and thinking, the sound of another set of footsteps coming down the hallway had alarmed her. Perhaps there was someone else who would be meeting Cersei and Baelish.

Margaery’s mind had already been compiling a list as to who it could be that was in cahoots with the most untrustworthy pair in the city, before she’d peeked out from her hiding spot. And she hadn’t known whether she was relieved or not to see that it was Sansa Stark wondering down the hall.

And Margaery made another split-second decision to pull her into the alcove with her. It hadn’t really seemed like a choice, given that it was either that, or chance that Sansa would unintentionally happen upon whatever was happening only a few feet away, in the next room down.

And with Sansa in the alcove with her, came the third choice that she questioned in hindsight. Because she’d pressed herself against the younger woman – which _had_ , in fairness, been an entirely innocent act on her part – and she was close enough to feel how warm Sansa was, close enough to _feel_ the fact that as soon as Margaery was close enough, Sansa’s heartrate went through the roof.

It was… distracting, to say the least, in a situation where Margaery truly didn’t have the time to have any distractions.

But once she’d heard what was being said, it was easier to concentrate. Being able to focus on the situation at hand was what had made anger burn up inside of her, strong and fast, and laced with dread.

Because _of course_ Cersei was showing up back in King’s Landing just in time to run for Jon Arryn’s small council seat. _Of course_ Petyr Baelish was going to use his sneaky, conniving methods to assist her campaign.

And of course she would forget herself – and forget that Sansa truly had no idea what was going on – just in time to see Cersei popping around the corner.

Margaery had nearly forgotten that look the older woman managed to adopt when she said the Tyrell name. As though she was respecting Margaery at the same time that she was actually insulting her.

Her mind was still reeling with everything that had happened, and she only had that split-second to gather herself. To recover from being caught in what could be construed as a compromising position – because even the momentary freeze her body had done without her damn consent was too much – with not only a beautiful woman, but one who happened to be the daughter of a notable politician.

It was, thankfully, second nature to slip into a congenial tone of voice. One that lacked the bitter bite that Cersei’s had to it but was no less a slight, “Mrs. Baratheon, it’s such a surprise to see you tonight.”

She fixed on a smile, as she resolutely did not offer her hand in a greeting, instead, keeping her arms crossed.

It was in the way that Cersei’s eyes narrowed – just enough to be noticeable to a watching gaze, which Margaery’s was – that she knew she hit the right spot. Even when her deceased husband had been alive, Cersei hadn’t been too fond of being referred to by his name, and it was no secret. At least, not to Margaery, who paid attention to the barely perceivable changes.

“A surprise? How odd. I thought you would have known that I’d be here,” Cersei’s lips were pulled back into what was a smile, technically, but Margaery knew that it was just a mockery.

And it grated on her nerves, but she kept her own butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile in place, “How odd indeed, given that I don’t believe you were on the original guest list.”

Which was actually something Margaery knew for a fact.

“Yes, well, originally, I wasn’t in King’s Landing,” Cersei stated, and what she was _not_ saying was even louder: I’m back now.

Despite the fact that Margaery desperately wanted to groan in frustration, she only tilted her head in acknowledgement, “It’s lovely to have you back.” In a deliberately slow movement, she ran her eyes down Cersei’s dress and then back up, “You’re looking… well. Your return to Casterly Rock seemed to suit you, Mrs. Baratheon.”

She took pleasure in the way the blonde’s eyes narrowed yet again. Just slightly, but it was enough.

Cersei cocked an eyebrow, “It’s actually just Lannister, again.”

Margaery didn’t even have to fake the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips as she murmured, “Is it? An odd thing, a widow going back to her maiden name. I suppose being referred to by your beloved’s name might be a little trying, though.”

It was only in the minor tick of a muscle in Cersei’s jaw that Margaery knew she’d hit her target right where she’d intended.

But instead of responding to the dig, calculating eyes narrowed the slightest at her before they purposefully scanned her face and then deliberately at the alcove where she and Sansa were still shaded in from the hall, “An odd thing, as well, to be hiding out here in the middle of a fundraiser. Together.”

The innuendo in her voice was anything but subtle, and the cold feeling that struck through the pit of Margaery’s stomach was unsettling. But, she reminded herself, it wasn’t as though Cersei _saw_ anything unsavory – there wasn’t anything to see.

Still, she kept her smile in place, “Odd? It seems you might understand a thing or two about disappearing from an event,” she inclined her head in the direction of where she and Baelish had been.

Rather than react to that, though, Cersei merely changed her course. Instead of keeping her focus on Margaery, she turned to Sansa.

She couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly that made her stomach churn uncomfortably at that. It was a combination, she thought. A combination starting with the fact that Sansa might be Sansa _Stark_ , but she was also Sansa – the woman Margaery had been talking to for a month.

The Sansa who wasn’t deceptive, who was anxious about the idea of messaging a woman on a dating website. The woman who literally choked on a sip of water earlier in the evening, just from a _look_ Margaery had given her. Sansa was intelligent, which Margaery had already gathered on her own and it was clear that others thought so, too, given the interactions she’d witnessed, but there was still that thing about her.

That thing that had made Margaery give Sansa her number a month ago, that had prompted her into giving all of those dating tips; it was this strange protective urge she had for the younger woman.

So there was that protectiveness inside of her, mixed with the fact that this needed to play out smoothly. She _needed_ this to end smoothly – and quickly – because this was really just the beginning of what was to come.

And for all that Sansa was adorable and had eventually managed to hold her own in the conversation earlier, it didn’t necessarily mean anything. Because Sansa wasn’t even in this game of politics, not really, and Cersei Lannister loved to play with her prey.

Especially prey like Sansa.  

She gave Sansa a look out of the corner of her eye, the first time she’d allowed herself to do so since the interaction began, and she took in the way Sansa’s hand was pressed against the wall, how she looked a little confused, blue eyes wide as she looked at Margaery.

Margaery hardly realized she’d taken a slight step forward, putting herself between Sansa and Cersei until she’d already done it. She truly did not like that somewhat predatory glint in Cersei’s eye as she smiled at Sansa.

“Hello, little dove. I had no idea that you were _friends_ with Ms. Tyrell, here,” her intonation was enough to insinuate what she meant.

And it was enough to make honeyed brown eyes narrow, Margaery’s hackles rising. Trading barbs with Margaery was one thing, and even though she knew Cersei wasn’t above dragging someone else into a mess, it didn’t sit well with her to have Sansa in the middle of anything. To know that she might have, inadvertently, brought her there.

Before she could even open her mouth, though, it was Sansa who spoke.

“Yes, we’re friends. Good friends, actually,” she asserted, in a voice that was low, calm, and even.

Surprise surged through her, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning to look at Sansa, full on. Who was now staring at Cersei, all big blue eyes and innocence – none of that blushing, flushing, heavy breathing kind of business that had been happening in this alcove only minutes ago.

Which was good, of course, but her mind was racing with the fact that Sansa was all adorably awkward with her, but then when Cersei Lannister appeared, she was collected? _That_ was inconceivably unprecedented.

As amazed as she was, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she ran her eyes over Sansa’s face before turning back to Cersei.

Who also didn’t look surprised, but for the slight lift of her eyebrows, “Really, now? Is that a recent development?”

“Fairly recent, yes,” Sansa hedged, but didn’t say much else. Which Margaery couldn’t blame her for; she was already impressed with the sweet younger woman going toe-to-toe with Cersei Lannister with only the hint of a blush on her cheeks.

As if she needed a reason to be more interested in Sansa Stark.

“Hmm. A recent development that takes place in dark alcoves?” she let the question hang in the air, with a smug smirk on her face that Margaery hated – had always hated.

The question gave pause to Sansa, whose face flushed and Margaery could tell even from where they stood shaded from the light in the hallway.

Margaery’s eyes narrowed in derision as she took the shot for the opening she’d been given, “I know it must be difficult for you to imagine having an actual friendship, but yes. And now, we must get back to the fundraiser. Perhaps you’d like to show some actual support as well, considering I can’t for the life of me remember the last time I’ve ever seen you volunteering there.”

Check and mate, she thought in triumph, as Cersei grit her teeth in response.

But before the older woman could get a word in, Margaery cleared her throat, “Come on, Sansa.”

She quirked an eyebrow in challenge as she deliberately reached out to link her arm through Sansa’s. She’d learned long ago that such innocuous touches between women garnered no attention at all, and she took advantage in the casual gesture.

For a moment she paused as she felt the jolt of surprise Sansa gave before she relaxed her shoulders, and the taller woman’s arm tightened just a bit, smooth warm skin sliding against Margaery’s as Sansa gave her a short, awkward nod to Cersei. But Margaery was already tugging her gently down the hall.

Absently, she reached up to lightly run her fingers over the backs of Sansa’s in a calming move, knowing that Cersei was watching them as they walked away and Margaery’s mind was still wrapping around everything that had happened, everything she’d heard.

Brown eyes slid to Sansa, and she was including her in wrapping her mind around everything.

Even in her heels, compared to Sansa’s flats, she came to just shorter than Sansa, her eyes darting up an inch or so to look right into those startlingly deep blue ones. Instead of looking back at her, though, Sansa’s head was turned to look behind them as they turned to enter back into the event hall.

Her soft, thick red hair that had been left down for the night brushed over Margaery’s shoulder as she turned back so that they faced one another. Sansa was wearing an exuberant grin, something that made her eyes spark, and the excitement Margaery could _feel_ rolling off of her made her feel inexplicably lighter, despite the situation.

She hadn’t been able to see this side of Sansa at all in their interactions yesterday at the coffee shop or earlier this evening, but she thought that she could imagine Sansa looking like this quite a bit.

But she didn’t understand the excitement, not when a confrontation with Cersei generally made her feel… well, not very excited, and she only had to lift her eyebrow in question before Sansa bit on her bottom lip for a moment before explaining, with her voice low, “It’s just – I’ve never heard someone talk to her like that before.”

The way her mouth was still in that disbelieving smile made her feel warm from her toes, and she lightly nudged Sansa with her shoulder as she murmured, “Well, stick around.”

The teasing words slipped out, and she could feel the automatic dip in her stomach, signifying satisfaction at Sansa’s blush. But she couldn’t even focus on that, anyway, because in all seriousness, there was a grim truth in her words; there would be a lot more to deal with when it came to the older woman in the coming months.

Even now, she could feel the back of her neck prickling, feeling eyes on them, and she smoothly led through the doors of the ballroom, into the loud sounds of members of the wealthy and elite society of King’s Landing mingling amongst the music performed by the live band who were now performing at the dais in the front of the room.

As soon as they entered the room, though, she felt the change in Sansa, and when she turned her head to look at her again, she could see the excitement start to fade into a speculative look. Straight, bright white teeth dug into her bottom lip as she stated slowly, “So… you’re a Tyrell.”

For a few seconds, she stared back, slowly taking in the way Sansa looked at her. Serious and pensive and curious. Both familiar and tentative at the same time.

She wondered if she looked at Sansa the same way as she responded with, “And you know Cersei Lannister well enough to talk back.”

The question went unasked. _How? Just who are you, Sansa Stark?_

It was an unfamiliar sensation, feeling that she wanted to know more about a woman, and not for any gain other than her own personal curiosity. But she’d already been feeling that with Sansa for a month now, so she supposed that it continuing in person wasn’t that odd.

Those intensely cerulean eyes stared into her own for a few seconds as she could see the color creep up on pale cheeks, as Sansa opened her mouth to answer. Whatever the answer was, a little frown line appeared in between her eyebrows, and Margaery wanted to know _more_ – a puzzle was her favorite thing, after all.

But over Sansa’s shoulder she could see Ned Stark striding in their direction. He didn’t overtly look worried, but she could read someone like Ned, practically an open book, from a mile away. There was concern in the way his eyes slightly narrowed and in the determined stride he took toward them.

It was probably for the best. Despite the fact that she didn’t have the chance to have a real conversation with Sansa, she still needed to process everything. And in a room full of people like this, it wasn’t the best location for an open discussion, anyway.

She didn’t realize their arms were still interlocked until she went to lean back, and she looked down at the point of contact in surprise.

Which Sansa must have interpreted… some other way, because she cleared her throat, “I – uh – sorry,” and she pulled her arm back, before smoothing her hand down her dress in the same manner that she’d done at the café yesterday, over her jeans. She gathered that it was a show of Sansa’s nerves, even before the redhead started to speak, “Can we… I just –”

Margaery shook her head, fixing her eyes directly above Sansa’s shoulder at her incoming father, as she murmured, “Not now.”

And then Ned was there, drawing a startled look from Sansa, who hadn’t even known he’d been approaching. He darted his eyes between them curiously, slowly; like he wasn’t sure as though he should have a look of accusation, before he settled his gaze on his daughter, “Sansa, I’ve been looking for you. You seemed to have disappeared.”

She expected there to be a blush that broke out on Sansa’s ridiculously flawless cheekbones, but instead was met with the sight of the taller woman only shifting slightly back and forth on her feet, “Yeah, sorry, dad. I just wanted to go get some fresh air.”

Her words appeased him slightly, and he gave a slight smile, “Well, you know I understand that feeling.”

Margaery stepped back from the Starks, “I had stepped out for a moment as well, and Sansa was kind enough to keep me company,” she informed him, not hesitating to go along with Sansa’s story.

Though, she supposed, that she might have slipped out of the room to keep an eye on Cersei and Baelish, but as far as she knew, Sansa truly had gone out for some fresh air.

In that case, Sansa had certainly gotten more than she’d bargained for.

Ned nodded slowly, though she could see the query in his eyes as he looked between them once again. It didn’t help that Sansa bit at her bottom lip before she looked at Margaery through her lashes as she murmured, “You’re welcome.”

A puzzle, Margaery thought again and she looked at the younger woman for just a moment longer than she told herself she should. She cleared her throat, “Yes, well, I apologize for monopolizing Sansa’s company. If you’ll excuse me, I should go check in with Renly.”

With that, she gave a quick smile and flit her eyes over Ned, then Sansa – who was giving her that same introspective look that she’d been giving her a few minutes ago, one that Margaery couldn’t exactly read – before she turned to scan over the crowd.

It wasn’t difficult to find Renly, who tended to gravitate toward the bar at these sort of events. As Margaery mingled – generally – Renly would skillfully evade the dance floor and any women wanting to dance with him, while simultaneously making enough small talk over drinks as to not be thought of as rude.

And as she walked through the throngs of people, it was the first time at a charity that she didn’t stop to meet and greet handfuls of people as she walked by. At any event, really. After all, that was their purpose.

Well, networking was _her_ purpose for attending.

But now that she had a bit of space, she was just replaying the last half hour in her head, and it all left her with such a sour taste in the back of her mouth.

Rather than the smile she typically fixed on, even in a bad mood, she was scowling by the time she reached Renly.

Who raised his eyebrows at her, green eyes lit up in amusement, “You look like you’re in a delightful mood.” He took a sip of the drink in his hand, pausing for a moment before he wondered aloud, “Here I thought you were on some sort of urgent covert mission, yet instead I find you slinking back in here looking all flushed with Sansa Stark.”

She didn’t need to see him to know that he was winking; his tone said it all.

Rolling her own eyes, she shoved at his shoulder. Harder than she’d originally intended, but she couldn’t control the frustration that was still bottled up, “Like I would do that _here_.” She didn’t say anything about whether or not she would do it with Sansa, because Renly might have been gay, but he was her friend; he knew her, and he had eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the woman in question – not Sansa, but Cersei – come sweeping back into the room as well, with a practiced ease. Gods. Margaery had known that the race for the small council seat would be difficult, no matter who she was running against.

But she’d really been hoping that she wouldn’t be running against someone that would be a nightmare to campaign against. Not that she’d ever competed against Cersei Lannister for anything before, but the woman was a nightmare in general, so Margaery already had the sinking knowledge that this was going to be a battle.

With that thought in mind, she leaned back against the bar and sighed as she held out her hand, “Give me your drink.”

Renly cocked an eyebrow, mischief clear in his expression, as he let out an exaggeratedly scandalized gasp, “You want my whiskey? Where is Miss One-Glass-of-Champagne-Per-Function?”

Margaery scoffed as he mocked her rule. But it was a good rule of thumb; Margaery had seen enough people publically humiliate themselves at parties like these, where the liquor was high quality and free, to know to never even possibly get buzzed at an event. However, being seen turning down a single glass of champagne or wine, whichever was primarily offered, could make her appear to be too uptight.

It was a balancing act. One that she’d mastered.

But right now, she grimaced as she informed him with a whisper, “Cersei fucking Lannister is running for the small council seat.”

Renly handed her his drink.

Margaery wasn’t typically someone who was anxious to leave a function early. That wasn’t to say that she enjoyed them, either, but she knew that they were a necessity. Socializing, mingling, schmoozing – all of it was in her wheelhouse.

However, it was less than two hours later – with the fundraiser still going fairly strongly – that found her shrugging on the light jacket she’d worn over her dress for the October chill. Renly had given her a questioning look when she’d told him that she was leaving already, but Margaery had had enough of this night.

It was intended to be some light socialization, rubbing elbows with people that she would be reliant on voting for her. Including Ned Stark, who had been the focal point in this plan of hers. She’d had a vague plan of _playing it cool_ when it came to Sansa, because though she knew they should talk, this wasn’t really the time or place.

But nothing really went according to plan. Given the arrival of Cersei, Margaery knew that the older woman would be the memorable event of the evening for the attendees.

Both of the Starks had left the fundraiser an hour ago, slipping out without Margaery’s knowledge, which meant she’d lost her chance to win over Ned on his visit, because she knew that his trip wasn’t going to last into the next work week.

And keeping distance between herself and Sansa had been completely thrown out the window in that alcove.

She was ready to go home, get a good night’s sleep, and spend the weekend re-strategizing.

Even though it was only early October, she was grateful for her jacket with the chill in the air. She tugged it closer to herself as she stepped out of the doors, taking a deep breath.

The fresh air actually _did_ feel nice, especially after a long night.

She took her time as she started her walk home. Renly had driven her, and had offered to leave with her. But she only lived a short distance away, and it was the lowest crime neighborhood in the city, so she wasn’t too concerned.

In an effort to try to not think about strategizing – she really wanted to regroup tomorrow and just clear her head – she reached into her pocket for her phone, where it had been stashed away all night.

The message from Loras was typical, and it made her feel a little lighter as she grinned down at it.

_**Loras – 8:47PM  
**_ _My day off from the night shift, and you’ve claimed_    
_rights to my boyfriend’s time. Not fair. You owe me._

She shook her head as she wrote back.

_**Margaery – 10:58PM  
** I don’t owe you anything. Renly is a grown man, he_  
_just clearly prefers my superior company._

It was when she saw the other texts that she had that gave her pause.

_**Sansa – 10:01PM**_  
_Hey, so I was just wondering… did you mean what_  
_you said to Cersei, earlier?_

_**Sansa – 10:02PM**_  
_I mean, about us being friends. Because you told her_  
_we were, but I understand that might just be something_  
_you said in the moment, because of… whatever was_  
_going on back there._

_**Sansa – 10:04PM**_  
_This is probably, like, weird. I don’t mean for it to be._  
_It’s just that I have, you know, come to think of you as_  
_a friend. Even though there’s clearly a lot we don’t know_  
_about each other._

_**Sansa – 10:05PM** _  
_Like that you’re the Prime Minister’s granddaughter!_

_**Sansa – 10:18PM**_  
_I just realized you probably don’t have your phone_  
_on you right now. I don’t even know where you would_  
_be carrying it in that dress._

_**Sansa – 10:15PM**  
_ _You can ignore that last part. Actually, you can ignore_  
_all of these._

Margaery bit her lip even as it curled into an unstoppable smile. Because now she had the whole picture to go with the woman who sent these messages. While she’d had a _picture_ picture before, it wasn’t the same thing. But now, she could imagine exactly the way Sansa most likely shook her head at herself after she sent these messages, the way she’d done every time she’d done something embarrassing in the last couple of days.

And the laughing girl in the picture she’d had easily melded with the gorgeous woman in the quietly expensive, modest yet lovely blue dress that both contrasted with her fiery hair and complimented her eyes.

Yet there were secrets that Margaery didn’t know. Hadn’t had a way of knowing, before, because even if they were friends in a manner of speaking, they didn’t know these details that were suddenly very pertinent.

Though she’d come into the evening unsure as to exactly how to approach Sansa, she found herself hitting the call button rather than typing out a reply. It just seemed... easier, and somehow more appropriate, now.

The line was ringing before she could let herself thing it through, and it only rang twice before Sansa picked up, “Margaery?”

The fact that she sounded genuinely curious made her shake her head in endeared amusement, “Who else would you expect to be calling you from my phone number?”

She heard Sansa moving around in the background for a moment before Sansa answered, quietly, “I don’t know,” she waited a beat before adding, “Maybe your boyfriend, Renly.”

Sansa _joking_ was entirely unexpected, and Margaery found herself laughing, an actual, full-on laugh for a few moments, “I can’t believe you actually thought that, dear girl.”

“Well, I didn’t know,” Sansa defended, and Margaery could just picture the way she’d been so serious when she’d told Margaery that she wouldn’t tell anyone about her _beard_. “I was just… telling you what I thought.”

“You thought I troll for hookups with women online, to cheat behind my boyfriend Renly Baratheon’s back, and the first thing you do is promise that you won’t tell anyone,” Margaery summed up, teasingly, primarily for her own benefit. Their situation earlier hadn’t truly afforded her the time she’d needed to really appreciate the fact that Sansa was… earnestly honest in that respect.

Unlike the majority of people Margaery knew and associated with on a daily basis.

Sansa was quiet for a few moments – Margaery actually pulled the phone away from her ear to check that Sansa was still on the line – before she could hear her sigh quietly and then mumble something. It was too quiet for Margaery to hear, but then Sansa was speaking normally, albeit hesitantly, “So… you got my texts.”

Margaery turned the corner onto her street, wondering what exactly was going through Sansa’s head. It was hard to tell with Sansa, surprisingly hard to tell what she was thinking for someone who was so transparent.

Still, she thought about the primary basis of all of Sansa’s messages, before answering truthfully, “Well, I’ll admit that meeting you caught me off guard.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Sansa was quick to cut in.

And it made Margaery huff out a laugh, as she dryly intoned, “Clearly.” It was so easy to picture the shock on Sansa’s face at every unexpected turn, that Margaery didn’t doubt her innocence for a second.

When it became clear that Sansa didn’t have anything else to add, she continued, “You being Ned Stark’s daughter was certainly… unexpected, to say the least. And, as you are aware, I’m a very private person, so…” she trailed off, tipping her head back to look at the sky as she reached into her pocket to find her keys.

It was difficult to verbalize exactly what you were thinking about a situation such as this, when Margaery hadn’t imagined it was one she would be in.

After a few moments of silence, Sansa spoke again. Her voice sounded solemn, and disappointed, “I understand. It’s – it’s not… I didn’t imagine that you’d be _you_ , either. Obviously. Um, I didn’t think that my stepping out of the closet meant that I was coming out to the granddaughter of the most powerful woman in the country.”

A kindred smile pulled at her the slightest bit, because of the _irony_ of it all, “Believe me, I didn’t know that by answering your message, I would be coming out to anyone who would connect to my real world.” She nodded at the doorman who worked at her building, giving him a small smile, as she continued into the lobby. And she continued to stream her thoughts aloud, with some consideration, “But… whether or not we planned it, you are in my real world already. So, it’s already done.”

She wanted to say that the puff of breath she heard Sansa exhale was through a smile. Like the excited one she’d worn earlier, “So, we _are_ friends, then. For real.”

Picturing the exuberance she’d seen made her smile, which morphed into a smirk, “Do you think I slink around in dark alcoves with people who aren’t my friend, sweet girl?”

It took her a few moments to realize that Sansa’s silence was entirely deliberate, as she waited a determined amount of time before saying, “Well… I _do_ have it on good authority that you had somewhat of an experienced past with women in all manner of places.”

Margaery’s mouth fell open, laughing in her incredulity, “Are you Sansa Stark or Sansa Snark?”

Sansa’s laughter came through her phone, loud and clear and giggly, and she imagined that she was most likely flushed in her audacity. It was a nice picture, she decided, and despite so many of her plans for the night having fallen flat, she found herself grinning as she walked through her apartment door.

Though entirely unforeseen, maybe she could use a friend like Sansa.

"Now that we're friends, maybe we should get together sometime, for a planned meeting? Rather than a surprise run-in?" she proposed. Because... why not? The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and there was no going back.

Sansa sounded cautiously excited, "Yeah, we could get a coffee. Or, well, tea for me. But, it's kind of our thing."

That pulled her up short, and she wished Sansa was there in person so she could give her the questioning look that wanted to take over, confusion settling in, "Our thing?"

Sansa laughed again, this time just a quiet little chuckle that almost sounded nervous as she explained, "Well, you told my dad that we met accidentally over coffee. And then we _did_ actually meet at Topped Off. So, uh, maybe it's not like a _thing_ , but it could be."

Light brown eyes rolled, even as a small smile played on her mouth and she shook her head, "Sure. We'll meet for coffee and tea. Our thing."

Margaery had never had a _thing_ with a friend, before. Then again, Margaery didn't have that many actual friends. So, though Sansa was unforeseen, she was looking forward to this... _thing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the feedback! Your kudos and comments are so awesome :) Thank you for reading, and your thoughts are always very much welcome and appreciated!


	7. Of Coffee Dates and Crushes

Sansa hurried across the street, pulling open the door to Topped Off, and blue eyes immediately scanned the tables as her stomach fluttered with excited nerves. Only to be a little let down when there was no familiar face already there.

She was supposed to meet Margaery for their coffee date in less than two minutes, and she’d practically run from campus to the café, as the class she’d been in ran a bit over time. For the first time in the semester so far, the students in her class had been engaged enough to want to talk _more_ about the topic – well, a few of them. Which was exciting, honestly, and it made Sansa feel proud, like she was doing a really good job.

But of all days for it to happen, of course it was the day where she had plans. Not that it appeared to have mattered all that much, anyway.

With a deep breath, she rolled her eyes at herself; she should be _glad_ that she had arrived before Margaery, because she figured that out of the two of them, she was the one who needed the extra minute to gather herself.

Despite the fact that they’d started texting again in the last few days, like they had before their unexpected meeting, and that their conversations weren’t stilted or awkward, Sansa was still a little nervous.

It certainly didn’t help when Jeyne called to her from behind the counter across the room, “Don’t worry, your date isn’t here yet!”

Sansa let the door close behind her, shutting out the October chill, before she hurried across the café as she shot back, “It’s _not_ a date!”

She’d been saying the same thing for days, ever since Jeyne learned about the coffee… meeting. Her friend had that jovial, mischievous look in her eyes, though, and for the life of her, Sansa truly didn’t know what she was thinking when she suggested Margaery meet her at Topped Off. It was just her go-to place, and it had been a thoughtless action to suggest they meet at the café.

At the very least, she should have chosen to meet there _after_ Jeyne’s shift ended in an hour.

Her supposed best friend obviously didn’t care about her denials, because, well, she was _Jeyne_ , and she wore sly grin, “Maybe it’s not a _date_ date, but it is a coffee date. And do you know who coffee dates are for? People who want to go on a date, but think asking for one is too _forward_ ,” she adopted a tone that mimicked a helpless woman, fluttering her eyelashes for effect.

And Sansa wanted to be exasperated, but instead was amused – and interested. Throwing a look over her shoulder at the door – no sign of Margaery, still, even though it was officially their agreed upon time – she worried at her bottom lip before giving in, “What gives you the authority to say that?”

Jeyne quickly restocked cookies in the display case without even needing to look, which was good for her as she was busy giving her the Sansa-is-oblivious-and-I’m-going-to-teach-her look that she’d perfected when they’d been eleven, and she taught Sansa about French kissing, and also had told her that people don’t only have sex with the person they’re married to, “Because, dearest Sansa, I work in a coffee shop. I see all.”

An unattractive snort escaped from the back of her throat and she couldn’t help but hide her mocking smile, “Maybe you should write a book with your omniscient knowledge.”

Dark eyes rolled back at her, “You can mock me all you want, but I know what I’m talking about. Just like I know that _you_ want it to be a date, because you’ve wanted her since you first saw her picture, and now you have a little crush –”

“Jeyne!” Sansa quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening and that Margaery hadn’t walked in at some point. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, and she wished that the counter wasn’t there to separate them, so she could put her hand over Jeyne’s mouth to stop her.

But her friend continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all, “I know she totally wants to bang you. And I know that it’s a minute after she’s supposed to have met you here, and if she doesn’t get here soon, you are going to be a nervous wreck.”

She finished by reached over to tap her finger against Sansa’s nose, and she batted it away immediately, blue eyes glaring.

“I _told_ you,” she kept her voice low, but firm, “that I don’t have a crush. We’re friends.”

“And I told you that you can’t lie to me. Sansa, you can barely lie in general, but you can’t lie to _me_ at all,” she told her smartly, before she clucked her tongue in disappointment.

She crossed her arms defensively, “We’re _friends_ ,” she repeated, firmly.

Because it was true. Of course, she found Margaery attractive, and of course she was attracted to her; Sansa honestly doubted that there was a person who was attracted to women who _wouldn’t_ be. But there was nothing between them beyond Sansa’s attraction, Margaery’s playful occasional flirtation, and the foundation of a friendship.

Jeyne only gave her a dubious look, but before she could voice her disagreement, Sansa sighed, “Please make my tea.” After a moment, she glanced at the clock. Margaery was now three minutes late, and Sansa _knew_ that was weird, because the Margaery she’d been talking to for a month seemed to run on a perfectly timed schedule. Regardless, she only hesitated for a second before adding, “And a coffee.”

The way Jeyne’s smile shifted into a saccharine-sweet grin tipped Sansa off to what she was going to be saying even before she sighed out in an exaggeratedly dreamy tone, “A coffee for _Margaery_.”

When her phone rang a second later, she jumped as she felt a little jangle of her nerves. Margaery could be canceling, because maybe she didn’t want to really be friends like this, or –

Or, it was just her mother, and Sansa was being paranoid. Calming herself, Sansa bit her lip for a moment as she debated whether or not to answer. She _was_ waiting for Margaery, the lesbian to whom Sansa was attracted to, and her mother always had a knack for being able to read her, even when she couldn’t actually see Sansa’s face.

It was the reason it was always much easier to lie to their dad rather than to their mom when they’d all been younger.

Still, she hadn’t spoken to her mother in almost a week, and she’d had a meeting with her publisher earlier in the day that Sansa was curious about. Plus, if there was one thing she _didn’t_ need, it was Jeyne asking her why she wasn’t going to answer, if this wasn’t a date.

With a deep breath, her gaze flit over to the door, before she answered the call, “Hi, mom. What’s – wait, you had your meeting with your publisher today, didn’t you?” Just like that, the slight anxiety she’d had upon answering the call melted away into excitement. “How did it go?”

Her mother didn’t keep her waiting, and even though her voice was typically reserved, Sansa could hear her enthusiasm as she told her, “The general public will have the next book available to them in six months – with three more to follow in the new series.” Then her tone dropped into the warm affection that was reserved for her kids, “And _someone_ has the final chapters waiting in her email already.”

Sansa couldn’t help the squeal of excitement from escaping her, even as she bounced up and down on her heels. Her smile was huge as her mind raced with the possibilities, “Mom! I can’t wait to read them.”

“I know, sweet. And _I_ can’t wait until you’re home for the holidays, and we can brainstorm about the new series together. None of your siblings has the same gift as you do,” Catelyn sighed, full of affection and indulgence.

And Sansa giggled, “I know. It’s going to be so great!”

Sansa looked forward to the holidays for a handful of reasons, and she did enjoy spending time at home more now, after she’d moved away. But there were fewer places she liked more than her mother’s office.

Catelyn Stark hadn’t really planned on being an author; she’d planned on being a best-selling historical fantasy sensation even less. In her childhood memories, her mother was a stay-at-home mom, with no side profession. The best stay-at-home mother that there could possibly be, but still. She was dedicated to her family, and her kids were her primary focus.

When she would put them to bed or sit with them by the fire or take care of them while they were sick, her mom could tell them stories she’d made up. Tales of a heroic knight, a woman knight named Brienne. Sansa’s childhood was full of these stories, and they got more elaborate when she got older, with Brienne eventually being joined by her sidekick, Pod.

Sansa had always loved the stories, and, unlike her siblings, she never really grew out of them. Also unlike her siblings, she never hit the phase where she was “too cool” to hang out with their mother. She’d loved to be her little helper, especially when Rickon had been born just after her tenth birthday.

And when Rickon was being raised through his baby and toddler years, Sansa had enjoyed to sit with her mother and her youngest brother. She grew more enamored with the stories her mom would tell, and started to help tell them. It wasn’t until she’d been thirteen that her parents had had the Manderly’s visiting from White Harbor, the founders and owners of White Harbor Publishing, and while they’d been visiting, they’d heard some of Brienne and Pod’s tales.

It all seemed to happen so fast from there; Catelyn wasn’t planning on having any more children, her oldest was going to be going to college in less than two years, and her youngest was no longer a baby. Ned had encouraged her to focus on something to make herself happy, and Sansa herself had begged her mom to really write about Brienne.

As Sansa had entered high school, _The Knight of Sapphire Island_ – Brienne’s origin story – was on shelves, and selling out faster than anyone had anticipated. Her favorite thing was to curl up in her chair in her mom’s office and talk about what was next for Brienne, giving her input on her mom’s ideas.

“Let me know when you read it, sweetheart, I want to know what you think. You know I talk about it with your father and Robb, but they aren’t terribly creative,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper, and Sansa grinned.

“I will! I’ll read it tonight, when I get home,” she promised and she was already looking forward to it.

Her mom hummed in thought, “Are you still on campus?”

It was like a flick of a switch, the way Sansa zoned back in to exactly where she was, and she found herself sucking in a quick breath, trying to be mindful of the way her words left her mouth, her broad smile slowly fading, “Um, nope, not on campus. I’m just at Topped Off for a bit.”

Jeyne chose that moment to loudly declare, “Order up, for Sansa and her date!”

Blue eyes widened in alarm, before annoyance had her narrowing them at her friend. _I will kill you_ , she mouthed to her and wasn’t exactly joking, but Jeyne just grinned anyway, because the damage was done.

She _knew_ the look in her mother’s eyes, even without having to see her. The look she wore when any of her kids “had their eye” on somebody new. It was both interested and cautious at the same time, and she could hear exactly that reflected in her tone, “A date? You didn’t tell me that you were interested in someone,” she chided.

Even though Sansa very much disliked tardiness, she sincerely hoped that Margaery would continue to run just a little bit late. At least late enough for the blush that she was sure was darker than her hair to fade along with her embarrassment, as she denied, “It’s _not_ a date; Jeyne’s just being a jerk.”

Her mother only _hmm_ ’d, and then sat quietly for a few moments.

And Sansa knew what she was doing, because that was a trick that her mom had done so many times. …but it worked so well, and the words were already leaving her before she could think about it, “Truly, mom, it’s not a date. I’m meeting a – a friend.” She hated that she sounded so unconvincing, despite the fact that she was _telling the truth_.

“A new friend?” Catelyn questioned, and still had _that_ tone. The tone that said she knew that Sansa was hiding something. It also didn’t help that Catelyn was also wary about who her children befriended. Not _as_ cautious as she was about who they were dating, but still.

That extended particularly to Sansa, she knew, for many reasons. She was the closest to their mother, she was her oldest girl, the only “girly” girl – Arya could and had kicked people’s asses for the smallest of provocations, plus she didn’t have a fabulous track record for romance.

“Yes,” she confirmed, dragging out the word, “Just, a girl I met recently.”

Gods. Oh, gods. Her mother was going to _hear_ it in her tone, she thought. And she knew it was completely illogical and technically impossible. Because there was no way her mom could know that she met said girl on a lesbian dating site, just from her voice… but what if she could?

“All right,” Catelyn sounded less suspicious now – now that she knew that it was a _girl_ , and Sansa should have been relieved but… she wasn’t – before she continued, “Does this new friend have a name?”

 _Margaery Tyrell_. It flowed so well, she thought. The syllables rolled off the tongue like water, and – she shook herself out of it, before she answered, “I – well, of course, everyone has a name. But this is a new friendship, and I don’t want…” she trailed off, realizing as she spoke that she was only making it worse for herself.

She closed her eyes and tipped her head back, holding in a groan of frustration at herself.

Even if she didn’t come to that conclusion on her own, the wildly entertained expression on Jeyne’s face said it all. Her friend was leaning down, bracing her elbow on the counter, and her chin in her hand, with a shit eating grin on her face.

Sansa brought her finger up, trailing it over her neck in a threat, before she turned around to avoid having to deal with Jeyne’s face.

“So, in summary, you don’t want me to know your new friend’s name, in case it’ll jinx your friendship?” her mom sounded both confused and amused in her own way.

Sansa knew how dumb that sounded; it sounded idiotic to her own ears, but she for the life of her couldn’t find the words to tell her mother that it was Margaery she was meeting. Not when her mother could so easily read her, figure her out.

Gods, she’d probably be able to _see_ Sansa’s attraction from miles and regions away.

“Yes?” she offered, weakly.

But her mother only sighed, her tone light, “Okay. But I’ll be here to listen about your date when you feel like sharing,” she was clearly teasing, but Sansa’s breath caught in her throat.

She had to cough, twice, before she managed to answer, “Ha. Yeah. Okay, I’ve got to go. I love you.”

Her mother’s voice returned back to the affectionate warmth that Sansa was used to, “I love you, too. Be safe.”

As soon as she hung the phone up, Sansa brought it up to rest her forehead against, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly. When she heard Jeyne cackling behind her, she spun around with a glare, “I hope you know that I’m not leaving you a tip.”

“Why aren’t you leaving Jeyne a tip?” came the interested voice from behind her, and Sansa froze, even as she felt a little tingle move up her spine at the somehow-already familiar inquisitive tone.

“Uh – it’s no reason,” she answered before she even turned to face her.

Which turned out to be a good decision, because she had to take a moment to catch her breath as soon as she set her gaze on the older woman.

Margaery, Sansa believed, probably had a skill. In that everything she wore looked like she was modeling it. She didn’t believe that it mattered _what_ she was wearing, really, but more of the way she carried herself.

With grace and elegance, and Sansa honestly believed that she could be wearing _anything_ and still look like that. As it was, she stood in front of Sansa with a tight, fitted pencil skirt and blouse, with a light jacket over it.

It was such standard business attire, but Sansa couldn’t help but think that Margaery wore it like she was walking down a runway, and that, combined with Margaery’s small, side-tipped inquisitive smile just made her stomach twist –

Distracting herself, she cleared her throat and reached for the coffee on the counter behind her, “Um, here. This is for you.”

The smile on Margaery’s face grew into one that was fully-fledged, and it made Sansa’s chest go all warm with it directed at her. Which only magnified when Margaery moved to take it from her, fingertips brushing over Sansa’s as she murmured, “Thank you so much. You have _no_ idea how much I needed this today. _Need_ this,” she corrected quietly.

And Sansa might have missed the slight frown – or, frown line between Margaery’s eyebrows, rather – that quickly smoothed out again had she looked away for only a few seconds. That was all it took to pique her curiosity, though.

“I’m just going to get some sugar,” Margaery gestured to the station a few feet away, and Sansa nodded as coolly as she could.

Before she spun around to see Jeyne, practically bursting at the seams, and she whispered as menacingly as she could, “ _Don’t_ –”

It was too late, “Why don’t you give her some sugar?”

Sansa’s hand tightened around her cup, and her tea nearly spilled out as she felt her cheeks flame hot in mortification. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw that Margaery appeared to be too far away to have heard the comment. Thankfully.

“One more comment, and I’m changing the locks,” she threatened. Rather than wait around, though, she turned to look at where Margaery was approaching, stirring her coffee, and giving a questioning look between Jeyne and Sansa. “Um, I was wondering, if you maybe want to… take a walk?”

 _And leave Topped Off before Jeyne undoubtedly says something so embarrassing that I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again_ , she added silently.

Margaery’s dark eyes seemed to brighten in amusement as she dragged her gaze one last time from Jeyne to Sansa. And she ran them over Sansa’s face in a slow perusal before she agreed, “Sure.”

A breath of relief left her, “Great. Good. Okay, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you at home, my tall drink of water! Take care of her, Magnificent Margaery!” Jeyne called out to them, and Sansa threw an exasperated glare over her shoulder.

Which melted as soon as she felt Margaery’s steady, sure hand rest on the small of her back and heard her quiet chuckle in her ear as she led them out of the café, murmuring, “I’ve come to realize that you didn’t exaggerate about her when you told me stories.”

Sansa hardly felt the crisp, chilled air hit her as she stepped out of the door. Despite the fact that she had a great tolerance for the cold, she was pretty sure it had something to do with the way she felt a bit warm all over with Margaery’s proximity.

Which, really, didn’t _mean_ anything, she assured herself.

The laugh that escaped her was shaky, but genuine, “Yeah, there’s no way to exaggerate about Jeyne.”

She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed or relieved when Margaery dropped her hand as she started leading them down the sidewalk. She tried not to think about it, and instead took a sip of her tea, and wondered what to say. Conversation flowed so well between them through text, and she hoped it would carry over –

 “I’m so sorry I was late. Today was… well, it’s been insanely busy all day long,” Margaery sighed out, her voice quiet and sincere, and even a little worn-out.

“It’s okay,” biting her lip in uncertainty, she hesitated for a second before offering, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Margaery turned to look at her, a smirk on her lips, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

“I wouldn’t be bored,” the words left her quickly, before she could even think about them, and she felt herself flush and hoped that Margaery thought it was the wind, before she cleared her throat, “That is – only if you want.”

At that moment, she very much wished she could read minds, especially what was going on in Margaery’s as her look turned speculative, like she was trying to figure something about Sansa out. Which was so strange, because Sansa knew that she was no mystery.

Whatever Margaery must have deciphered, it made her sigh and close her eyes for a moment. Sansa suddenly thought back to the times that they’d texted where she worried that she’d asked for too much personal information, and she thought about what Margaery had said to her before. About how she wasn’t used to different of her life coming together and colliding.

But then Margaery spoke, “You know how there is a seat open on the small council?”

Sansa nodded, “Jon Arryn’s seat.” She’d even gone to his funeral at the end of the summer with her parents.

“Right. Well, I’m campaigning for it, and campaigns were announced today. Which meant that everything at the Red Keep was…” she trailed off, using her hands to wave around in front of her for a second, before landing on, “Crazy. Even _crazier_ because Cersei Lannister is also running, which just meant everything was doubly hectic. I have so much paperwork to do, I actually need to go _back_ to work again, after this.”

Sansa’s eyes were wide with surprise, her mouth hanging open for a few seconds before she managed to get out, “ _Cersei Lannister_ is running for a small council seat? And you are, too?”

Gods. She wondered if her dad knew.

Margaery chuckled darkly, before drinking her coffee, “That tone in your voice is basically what I heard all day long.”

Sansa shook herself out of the slight stupor she’d fallen into at all of this information, red hair shaking over her shoulders, before she took a moment to _look_ at Margaery. Beyond the general gorgeousness that she would probably always have, she thought she could see the dredges of exhaustion on her face.

“Do you… want to cancel, um, _this_?” she gestured between them, before she quickly explained, “I just mean, if you’re so busy. I don’t want to – to make you more stressed, or anything.”

She really didn’t want to make the offer, because, well, she’d been looking forward to this. In spite of her nerves and how she didn’t know quite what to expect from the older woman, she wanted to spend time with her. But, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Especially because they might not have spent much time together in person, but Sansa did _know_ Margaery, on one level. And the fact that she seemed stressed and maybe a little frazzled was… at odds with her mental picture of the older, knowledgeable woman who seemed to truly know everything.

Margaery quirked her eyebrow in a perfect arch at Sansa for a moment, before turned to lead them across the street toward a park. And she took a deep breath before she looked up at Sansa and murmured, “No, darling, it’s okay. I’ve actually been looking forward to this.”

The words could have been meant casually, Sansa knew that. She knew, logically, that they shouldn’t have made her heart speed up, just a bit, or make her smile in the silly way that was threatening to take over. But she couldn’t help it, because Margaery said the words like they were a confession.

They strolled through the entrance of the park, and Margaery tossed out her empty cup of coffee before sliding her hands into her pockets.

Sansa took the moment to think about what Margaery had told her, about Cersei, and she couldn’t help herself from asking, “Do you really think that Cersei is going to beat you in an election?”

Margaery gave her a sidelong look, her eyes alone questioning and searching, “You apparently know her fairly well. Speaking of, exactly how _do_ you know her? I assume you didn’t meet her on a dating site,” she bumped her shoulder into Sansa’s, smirking.

Sansa’s mouth fell open, equal parts scandalized and horrified, “No!” she practically shouted, garnering a few strange looks from people they walked by on their path, before she blushed and lowered her voice to repeat, “No.” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes in hesitation, because she didn’t want Margaery to judge her. She took a deep breath, “I dated her son – Joffrey.”

Margaery’s eyes widened in surprise as she took the information in, and Sansa waited for the inevitable _look_ she got whenever someone who knew about Joffrey gave her. But instead Margaery looked at her in sympathy, before stating succinctly, “That’s traumatic.”

The serious way she said it made Sansa choke out a surprised laugh, “Tell me about it.”

The brunette shook her head lightly, “And because I don’t want to make you think about _that_ for any longer, I’ll go back to your original question – Cersei is dangerous in her own way. Let alone the fact that she has so many ties with powerful people.” She paused for a moment, seeming to consider her words, which just made Sansa all the more curious, before she said, “Your own family, for instance. She was married to one of your father’s oldest friends.”

As soon as she registered what Margaery said, Sansa almost tripped over her own feet. She came to a quick stop before she stared at Margaery to see if she was serious. She was, and Sansa stared at her incredulously, “You – you actually think _my_ father – anyone in my family, really – will vote for Cersei Lannister?”

Margaery shrugged, before she took on a teasing tone, “For a supposedly straightforward group of people, the Starks can be an unpredictable people when it comes to some things.”

Sansa felt that playful spark in those honeyed brown eyes all the way to her feet, and it made her stomach flip-flop pleasantly for a few moments before she ducked her head and started walking ahead, “That’s – that’s not true.”

She could feel Margaery’s eyes on her as they walked down a pathway, and she tried to will herself not to blush, but she didn’t think it was working.

Thankfully, Margaery broke her gaze and looked around them a few seconds later, “Can I ask you a question?”

Interested, she turned to look at the shorter woman before shrugging, “If you want.” It’s not really like Sansa had much to hide.

“Are you out? To your family?” Margaery intoned, peering up through long lashes at Sansa as she felt herself flush, this time from the squirmy feeling she got in her stomach rather than anything else.

“Um, no. Not really. I mean, my sister knows. But that’s only because Arya eavesdropped on a conversation between me and Jeyne,” she rolled her eyes fondly, because Arya was _Arya_. Her only response had been _I hope your taste in girls is better than your shit taste in boys_.

Margaery lifted her eyebrows and Sansa could see that there was more she wanted to know even before she asked, “Why haven’t you told them? You seem to be close.”

Sansa could hear the implied question, and she shook her head, “I don’t know. They wouldn’t be mad,” she was quick to say, because she didn’t want anyone thinking that about her family, let alone someone who _knew_ them – or at least, knew them in a professional capacity, “They’d love me, no matter what. I know that,” she murmured, though she thought it might take her dad a little while to wrap his mind around it, “But it’s – I’ve barely figured myself out. I mean, I – well, you know,” she finished, weakly, gesturing to Margaery, who was giving her an amused smile.

“I _do_ know, sweetling. And how is that going? The website,” she elaborated on, even though Sansa already knew what she meant.

She felt her cheeks heat, as she reached down to fiddle with the hem of her sweater, “I don’t… it’s _not_ going, really. I mean – I’m not…” she didn’t know how to fully elaborate her ineptitude with dealing with women aloud.

But Margaery only chuckled, softly and in a way that was more affectionate than teasing, before she reached out to loop her arm around Sansa’s, “Okay, we won’t talk about that.” Margaery tilted her head up to look at her in surprise, “How are you so warm? You only have a sweater on, not even a jacket!”

“I’m from Winterfell, Margaery. This is nothing,” she took a moment to take in the fact that Margaery shivered slightly despite the fact that she _was_ wearing a jacket, and she frowned, “Are you cold?”

Margaery gave her a _duh_ look, “I’ll be fine. Besides, you’re next to me, and practically a human furnace apparently,” she joked.

Sansa scoffed, and shook her head with a slight smile on her mouth as she asked, “So… what about you?” Rolling her eyes at herself, she added on, “I mean, are you? Out?”

She’d been very curious about that since she’d realized who Margaery was. Especially after everything with Renly.

Margaery hummed for a moment, “To my family, yes. To the general public, no.”

“What about to your friends?” she found herself asking, thinking about Mya and Jeyne for herself.

Margaery let out a quick laugh, “To Renly and you? Yes.”

Surprised – both at such a short list, and having herself included, despite the fact that it made her happy – she looked down at Margaery. Who was looking ahead of them, looking unperturbed.

Her mind took what Margaery had just told her, and she thought back on everything she knew about the brunette’s love life, and it seemed to click into place. She couldn’t contain herself, and wondered aloud, “Is that why you don’t like to date? Or – or have a relationship? Because of your job?”

Margaery turned to look at her sharply, but didn’t appear to be upset. She seemed more amused than anything, “I suppose you could think of it that way, but… it’s not exactly the whole picture.” She let out a thoughtful sigh, before disentangling their arms to step away and run her hand along the railing they were passing.

Sansa knew she _wasn’t_ cold, but it was surprising how much she’d enjoyed having Margaery holding onto her arm, leaning into her side. She wasn’t cold, but she missed the warmth.

Margaery didn’t notice her internal struggle, and nonchalantly shrugged before glancing over her shoulder at Sansa. Who looked back at her in confusion, “What _is_ the whole picture, then?”

The brunette sighed, “It’s not that I _want_ to be alone,” she explained, “It’s just that, I don’t think that _love_ is necessarily as important as people make it out to be. Or, maybe it is to some people, but not to me. Some people grow up, hoping to fall in love. I grew up, hoping to be the Prime Minister.”

Blue eyes narrowed contemplatively, as she measured Margaery’s words and she walked slowly alongside her. But she found herself frowning, because it didn’t add up to her, “But – why does it have to be one or the other?” Her parents were in love _and_ successful.

The shorter woman gave Sansa a warm look, “I’m not saying it has to be, for everyone. And maybe I’ll find someone, one day. But I prefer to focus on my career, which is already difficult enough with my being so young and a woman, without adding sexuality into the mix. In that way, I suppose I’m lucky that I don’t have the inclination for dating; nothing is at odds.”

She spoke of it so lightly, as if it didn’t affect her at all. And maybe it didn’t, but Sansa couldn’t help but feel an unfortunate twisting low in her stomach; it just made her feel _sad_. Big, blue eyes watched as Margaery led them down another pathway, and, “It seems lonely.”

She cringed at herself for letting the words escape her before she could really think about them.

Margaery shrugged, not looking particularly upset – not nearly as upset as the idea of Margaery being alone forever made Sansa feel, even, “It… has its moments. But doesn’t everyone feel lonely sometimes, no matter what?”

Sansa shrugged, begrudging, “I guess so.” She supposed Margaery did have a point in that, but still. She shook her head, trying to clear herself from this bad feeling that had seeped in. Instead, she focused on the fact that Margaery had just voluntarily shared so much, where in the past month, she’d been so closed off. It worked to alleviate some of the heaviness in her stomach and she assured, “Your grand plans are safe with me.”

Margaery regarded her with a soft, fond smile that served to take away the rest of that unfortunate feeling, “If I believed I couldn’t trust you, Sansa Stark, I wouldn’t have told you anything.”

She didn’t wonder until much later if it was odd to feel so proud of herself, and practically elated, at the fact that someone like Margaery – someone who was so very private and had all of those little compartments of her life tucked neatly away from one another – put her faith in Sansa.

“I make an excellent friend,” she promised, and her tone was light and joking, but she hoped Margaery could see that she was being serious.

Margaery gave her a thoughtful look for a few seconds, one that made the tips of Sansa’s ears burn in a blush, but then her face melted into something of a self-deprecating smile, “That’s good, because I could probably use one.” Sansa felt herself smiling back, before Margaery led them through a clearing in the path, “Now, come on, darling. You can’t be a friend of mine without a stroll through the rose gardens here.”

“Do you actually like gardening?” she asked, blushing when Margaery cocked a brow at her, and she stammered to explain, “I – it was on your profile.”

That tumble of light brown locks tumbled over Margaery’s shoulders as she started to laugh, “Yes, I do love to garden. That is all true. And what about you? Was yours all true?” she tipped her head to the side, narrowing her eyes in thought, “Lemon cakes, dogs, knitting, snow, literature, and…”

“Running,” she supplied, feeling ridiculously flattered that Margaery remembered all of that. She ducked her head as a pleased smile tugged at her lips and she confirmed, "And yes, all of that is true."

Margaery’s smile was sharp and bright, “Well, the snow and literature make perfect sense, now that I know who you are.” Sansa was surprised when she felt the brunette’s soft, slightly cold hand reach out and snag her own, tugging a bit, “Now, come. I’ll teach you something about flowers before I have to get back to work.”

Over an hour and a walk through the entire gardens of the park later, they were drawing up to Sansa’s apartment building. And even though she had chapters of her mom’s latest book to read waiting for her in her email – which she usually read _immediately_ , and she really was looking forward to reading it as it was – she found that she didn’t really want to say goodbye.

It had been even better than she was expecting, and she didn’t know where along the line it had happened, but all of those nerves had faded long ago. She hadn’t really made any new friends in a while – she had Jeyne, who she’d known forever. A few other girls at home that she kept in contact with, a few from undergrad that she caught up with on campus, and Mya.

However there was no one quite like Margaery. And now she knew that it wasn’t just the novelty of this older woman, but rather just _who_ she was that made her so… cool.

But, Margaery was sighing lightly, “This was a very good distraction for the mess of paperwork I have waiting for me. Even better than I expected, actually,” she added with an indulgent smile.

Her words made a pleased feeling spread through Sansa, warm and comforting, and, “We’ll do this again, right?” she blurted out, hearing the eager inquiry in her own tone and mentally rolling her eyes at herself. Because she truly had, as Jeyne loved to tell her, no chill.

Margaery only chuckled lowly, “Well, we _are_ the most trusted of friends now.” She shot her a wink, “Text me.”

“I will,” she assured, before she bit her lip, unsure of exactly how to say goodbye. Should she hug her? Like she did with her other friends?

She didn’t realize it was happening until it was _happening_ but Margaery was leaning up, and blue eyes widened in anticipation as her stomach dropped out. Butterflies exploded in her stomach before her eyes snapped shut and she felt herself get warm all over.

Before she felt soft, cool lips against her cheek.

Her breath left her in a startled breath, and when she breathed back in, she felt immersed in that amazing perfume Margaery wore, as the wind blew a few strands of light brown hair against Sansa’s other cheek in a light caress.

She wondered if Margaery could actually _feel_ her blush, because she could surely feel her own hands shaking.

Sansa didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Margaery ended the lingering kiss, leaning back with an easy smile that Sansa could in no way replicate. Not when her heart was beating erratically in her chest the way it was.

“This was really fun, Sansa. I’ll see you later,” Margaery squeezed Sansa’s arm quickly, before she waved – how did she manage to still look cool while _waving_? – and she turned to go. She did it all in a more casual manner than Sansa could ever hope for.

The words, “I – yeah. I’ll text you,” croaked out of her, somewhat dazedly, as she watched Margaery slip her hands into her pockets and strut down the street.

It took her a few more moments to get a hold of herself, because her cheek was still burning and somehow tinging, and her hands had the slightest tremor as she reached into her pocket to retrieve her keys.

Seven hells, if Margaery could kiss her on the _cheek_ and make her feel like she was about to faint, she could only imagine what it would be like if Margaery was to ever kiss her, for real.

And just like that, she groaned, her stomach sinking. Because Jeyne was right, and she had a crush. A big, gay crush on Margaery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! All feedback is appreciated :) The comments, kudos, and messages I've gotten on tumblr about this story have been absolutely amazing! Thank you so much for reading.


	8. Control

_The proverbial race for the late Jon Arryn’s small council seat is on and off with a bang. Arryn, whose political career amassed over fifty years, spent the last thirteen years of said career on the small council. His untimely and unforeseen passing has left his seat open, two years earlier than anyone could have expected._

_With campaigns announced only two weeks ago, two candidates have emerged in the running: Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell._

_Lannister, 48, is the eldest child and only daughter to the retired Prime Minister, Tywin Lannister, who served in the 2002-2006 term, as well as the widow to the late small council member Robert Baratheon (1964-2013). She has been on the board of multiple organizations, most notably the Committee for the Arts, in King’s Landing over the past twenty years._

_Tyrell, 26, is the youngest grandchild to current Prime Minister Olenna Tyrell, serving since 2006. She graduated at the top of her class from King’s Landing University with a degree in Political Science, and has been working at the Red Keep since graduating. She currently works as the Assistant Director in the Department for the People._

_Missandei Naath with King’s Landing News has the first official interview with candidate Margaery Tyrell:_

_**Naath:** Cersei has already gone on record to question your experience as a politician. _

_**Tyrell:** [laughs lightly] Yes, so I’ve heard._

_**Naath:** What do you have to say to address her concerns regarding your age and experience?_

_**Tyrell:** First and foremost, I would like to state that Cersei Lannister can disparage my political career all she would like to, but it remains to be said that she herself has no experience in a professional setting. Political or otherwise. _

_**Naath:** So, you’re saying that she has no right to criticize based on her own political record._

_**Tyrell:** Essentially, yes. That is to say, she has no political record to speak of. _

_**Naath:** Duly noted. Now, in a typical campaign for a small council seat, candidates have over a full calendar year to run. Given the circumstances of this race, you’ll have only six months. Do you believe that you are prepared?_

_**Tyrell:** Yes, I believe so. Of course, there are always events that one cannot plan for, but that is all part of being a politician. However, I’ve spent my life preparing for this; I’ve spent over four years working in the Red Keep professionally, and even more time than that prior, working in internships. _

_**Naath:** People often say first-time runners for elected positions don’t know what they are getting in to. But you don’t think that applies to you?_

_**Tyrell:** Not to criticize anyone who has said that, or to imply that I know everything because that is a feat no one can claim. But I do know that I’ve been in politics and around politicians enough to know with a clear head of what I was getting into. _

_**Naath:** Your grandmother beat Cersei Lannister’s father in the 2006 election for Prime Minister. Would you say there is a bit of rivalry between your two families?_

_**Tyrell:** I wouldn’t exactly say there is a rivalry, no. In fact, the circumstances of this campaign were a complete surprise. I wasn’t aware Cersei was in the running until after I’d already filed my campaign forms. [coy smile] Would I deny that our family dynamic is completely irrelevant to the race? Probably not. _

_**Naath:** Do you believe that having your grandmother – who has gone on record already state her support for your campaign – will give you the upperhand?_

_**Tyrell:** I can’t speak as to what is on the voter’s minds so early in the campaign. I can say that I greatly respect and admire my grandmother and all of the work she has done for Westeros. And that while anyone who shares my thoughts on my grandmother certainly wouldn’t be led astray by voting for me, I am not running on my grandmother’s platform. I am running as my own person. _

_**Naath:** And who exactly are you? What is the platform you are running on, as your own person?_

_**Tyrell:** My platform is very much rooted in the work that I am already doing, that I will continue to do. My work is to farther the plight of the people of Westeros. My role in the Department for the People has been to work closely with homeless shelters, food banks, schools, and orphanages in order to provide more stable environments for those in need. I think that it can be easily forgotten, in this game of politics, that the reason we are here is to serve you, the people. I’m running for the small council to take the work I’ve been doing and magnify it to a greater scale. _

_**Naath:** All right. Thank you for your time, Margaery. It’s been nice to catch up with you. _

_**Tyrell:** It has been lovely to talk with you, Missandei. _

_The first debate between Tyrell and Lannister will take place in just under two months, on December 22 nd. King’s Landing News will be there to report. _

Margaery sighed lightly as she dropped the news article down onto the living room table, a small smirk pulling at her mouth. Her first official interview.

It had been two and a half weeks now, since she’d announced her plans to run for the small council seat, and she had already hit the ground running.

As she’d said in her interview, she wasn’t at all surprised by the magnitude of what she’d gotten herself into. She’d known how much work this was going to be, and not just in a theoretical sense; maybe she had never run for office before, but she’d seen campaigns like her grandmother and worked on enough of them through college that it would be impossible for her to be going in blind.

But knowing what would be expected of her and experiencing it all firsthand were two different things.

The workload alone was exhausting. Her role as the Assistant Director in the Department for the People was already a full-time job; more than, actually, if she ever wanted to get anything done. Now, she was at the forefront of her campaign, going head-to-head with Cersei Lannister, working to secure votes and strengthen relationships both in and out of the Red Keep, working to schedule interviews, and when she wasn’t actively working, her mind was strategizing.

She’d been getting less than eight hours of sleep a night before campaigning; she was getting even less now.

But something must really be wrong with her – or very right, given her chosen life – because in spite of the pressure and the stress and the lack of sleep… she felt like she was thriving.

She got a rush of adrenaline whenever something new happened in the campaign, even when she’d seen that Cersei had gone on-record a few days ago, discussing Margaery “youthful lack of experience.” It was maddening, but thrilling in a way that fewer things were.

It was good to have that confirmation that she was in the right profession.

She sighed again, this time with some slight agitation, when her phone buzzed with a text. The only downside she could think of was that the publishing of the interview had also meant that her phone had been ridiculously busy all day. And not with actually relevant political matters, either, but just people she knew who had seen it.

It was good, of course, the interest she was already gaining and she was grateful and flattered by the support she was being shown. However, it also was irritating when she’d been trying to actually get work done at the office.

Her agitation faded, though, when she looked down to see that it was from Sansa. And it was entirely unrelated to her interview.

_**Sansa – 6:13PM  
** Okay, I’ve picked up the food, and I’m on my way._

_**Margaery – 6:15PM**  
The door will be open, darling._

She quickly wrote back, a pleased smile working its way over her face. In the last few weeks, she’d seen Sansa four more times for coffee, and each of those times was simultaneously like learning something new about the younger woman but also like spending time with a decently close friend.

It was an interesting paradox, and Margaery felt it mirrored the same one that Sansa herself presented. The younger woman was beautiful – clearly – yet, she was so easily flustered. And flirting could make her blush darker than her hair, yet she had those sassy, sarcastic moments that caught Margaery off-guard every time.

She was both intelligent and naïve, awkward and bold, and Margaery was very, very much enjoying it.

And tonight, for the first time, Sansa was coming to her apartment for dinner and a movie. It had been Sansa’s idea; one of those bold moments, where she seemed to speak before she could let herself think it through – Margaery very much enjoyed those moments. They both amused her and made Sansa that much more endearing, because those blue eyes would get so big, like Sansa couldn’t believe she said what she’d said.

They’d been leaving the café down the street from the Red Keep, where they’d taken to meeting as Sansa was keen to avoid Topped Off and Jeyne whenever they hung out – which also entertained Margaery – and Margaery had finished commenting that she was feeling a bit of the stress of everything she had to do, and Sansa had suggested this movie night as a way to “de-stress.”

Even now, Margaery shook her head, with a light laugh at the memory. Adorable Sansa Stark, offering to help Margaery de-stress… with dinner and a movie.

If anyone would have told her a few months ago that she would be having a beautiful woman over to her apartment, for dinner and a movie and nothing else, and that she would be _looking forward to it_ , she would have laughed.

Yet, here she was.

She spun on her heel, smile still on her face, when she head the door to her apartment open and then close in rapid succession. Eyebrows wrinkling in confusion, she looked down to see that Sansa had only texted her minutes ago, before she called out, “You got here quickly.”

And honestly, she was a little surprised that Sansa had let herself in so confidently.

But rather than see Sansa walk around the corner and into the living room, she was greeted with the quizzical smile of her brother, “Did Renly text you that I was coming over?”

“No. What are you doing here?” she folded her arms, lifting her eyebrows at him in the same way she’d always done when she was displeased with him.

Not that she usually minded a drop-in visit from Loras – or any of her family members, really – but they all knew she preferred at least a phone call beforehand.

Her brother opened his mouth in mock offense, “You sound so cold! To me, your closest brother.” When she rolled her eyes, he dropped the act, “Well, I was hoping that you wouldn’t be home yet. Don’t you usually have dinner with the old battleax on Mondays?”

She couldn’t help the exasperated chuckle that worked its way out of her throat, “Loras, I swear. You and grandmother are the worst.” The lovingly antagonistic relationship that Loras had with their grandmother was something that Margaery was positive would never change, at this stage.

“Besides, if you didn’t know that she was in Dorne for the Union of Peace conference – like she’s been for the last week – then all hope is truly lost for you,” she informed him, only half-joking.

Loras only shrugged, though he gave her a cheeky grin.

The Union for Peace had been formed over thirty years ago, spearheaded by Olenna herself when she’d been working in the Red Keep in the Department of World Commerce. It was a coming together of many prominent leaders in the world. They formed universal security, trade, education, and health systems and laws, all under the Dornish Treaty, and they met for a two week symposium every year in Dorne to discuss all current events.

Prominent politicians included were, of course, the Prime Minister of Westeros, a select few members of the small council, as well as the warden of every region in the country, along with two representatives from Braavos, Pentos, Volantis, Lorath, Lys, and Qohor. After the first few years, Asatapor, Yunkai, and Meereen signed the treated and joined the Union as well.

In the last year, some of the final holdouts against the Union – the Dothraki and Dothraki supporting cities, Myr and Norvos – had finally joined as well. It was big news, and Margaery could only imagine how much business there could have been to iron out with all of that this year.

Honestly, she was extremely envious of everyone who was currently at attendance of the conference; it was something she’d been desperately wanting to be privy to for as long as she could remember.

And the fact that Loras even pretended that he wasn’t aware it was going on might have been annoying, if she would expect anything different from him.

“I’m surprised I haven’t heard about her calling you after your interview today,” he commented, as he walked closer to bend down and pick up the paper she’d put on the table.

Margaery scoffed, “I received a phone call from her first thing after the article was released, brother.”

“I imagine she’s pleased?” Loras murmured, as he skimmed his eyes over the article.

She found herself grinning, thinking about the phone call in question. It had started out with her grandmother complaining about the fact that the conference could be shorter, if they could all sit down and focus on what was important, how they all had important things to do, like run countries.

And it had quickly escalated into her grandmother telling her that she was counting on Margaery to win, because the day Cersei Lannister sat on her small council, would be the day she went into early retirement.

Margaery had joked, “That’ll be the day,” because her grandmother was well past a respectable retirement age, but she didn’t let that stop her. She never let _anything_ stop her, and Margaery respected that so much.

With a light _hmm_ , she nodded, “Well, grandmother says that she doesn’t worry that I’ll let her down.”

Which Margaery loved, because she loved knowing that her grandmother had so much faith in her. That she didn’t doubt in Margaery’s abilities or knowledge, despite her youth or anything else. But it also did make her feel the pressure a bit more.

Loras placed the article down on the side table next to her couch, before he sat on the arm with an exaggerated sigh, “Yes, she never worries that you will let her down, unlike her grandsons.”

He said it with the same agitated affection that their grandmother used when talking about Margaery’s brothers. Others might miss it, or mistake it for the impatience it often sounded like, but Margaery knew them all well enough to know better.

It was no secret that Margaery was their grandmother’s favorite – something she’d reveled in during her youth, though as she’d gotten older, she also recognized that there could be potential downsides. There was a heavy expectation on her to uphold everything Olenna was and what she wanted for Margaery. She supposed it was kismet that she held herself to those same standards.

Or perhaps it was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Regardless, Margaery knew that her grandmother had wanted all of her grandchildren to uphold her legacy in some matter. She’d had high hopes, at first, that Willas would grow more ambitious, as he had the intelligence and an affable demeanor for politics. But as he’d gotten older, it was clear that he didn’t have the absolute ambition and motivation he would need for the game, and by the time he was going to university, he’d declared his major as veterinary science.

Then, there had been Garlan – tall, strong, swift, and discreet. But he vehemently preferred his life out of the spotlight, and he’d become a firefighter as soon as he was able to, and married his high school sweetheart, whom Olenna did not care for too much. Not to mention, both of her eldest brothers didn’t have the desire to leave Highgarden.

Loras, did, obviously, move away from Highgarden and was happy to build a life here in the capital. But much to their grandmother’s chagrin, while Loras had the looks and charming personality that would make a good politician, he was much more concerned with right and wrong.

Margaery, as her grandmother had told her since her youth, was everything Olenna thought good about the Tyrell name. It was both a bit heavy, yet something she was extremely proud about.

Margaery reached up to scoop her hair up, twisting it into a ponytail even as brown eyes rolled, still full of affection, “You know she loves all of you. Especially Garlan, now.”

“Oh, yes, grandmother is thrilled that _that music teacher_ is carrying her first great-grandchild,” Loras snarked back, and they shared a smile, before he continued, “But, yeah, I know as much as she wants to pretend she’s not happy about Leonnette carrying on the Tyrell line, she’s happy _someone_ is.” His grin grew sharp, and she knew even before he spoke that she was going to be teased, “At least that is something where you fail in grandmother’s eyes.”

Margaery scoffed, and only because Loras was right. She’d heard it a thousand times before, actually from their grandmother, about how she, Loras, and Willas were disappointments on the personal life fronts. Mostly Willas, as he was now in his thirties.

“Shut up,” she told him, succinctly, before getting to the point, “Now, what exactly are you here for?”

Finally, he sighed a long-suffering sound, before he fell backwards gracefully to land on her cushions, “Renly wants to watch some mini-series, about the Doom of Valyria,” Loras informed her, looking pained. It amused a smirk out of her, “I was pretty sure you’d have it. You and Renly both, sadly, have similar taste in that respect.”

“As Renly’s luck and your distress will have it, I _do_ have that,” she walked over to the shelf filled with her movies, eyes skimming over the titles. Quickly, she picked out the one she knew Renly was talking about – they’d discussed it last week.

When she turned back around, Loras wasn’t laying on her couch anymore, but was instead looking at her coffee table. He had the DVD case of the movie she and Sansa were going to watch in his hands, and he groaned, “Half Year Queen? _Again_? Margaery, there is only so many times someone can watch the life and death of Rhaenyra Targaryen before they just need to be fed to a dragon themselves. You need an intervention.”

She bopped him lightly on the top of his head with the DVD set, grinning in satisfaction when he yelped lightly and reached up to take the DVD from her with one hand, then rub over the spot with the other, “I’ll have you know that I have a friend coming over who wanted to watch the movie with me, smartass.”

Though Half Year Queen and the life of Rheanyra in general was one of her favorite things, she was being truthful. Sansa had admitted that she’d never watched the movie – Margaery’s favorite – all of the way through, because she knew the story already, and she thought the movie would only upset her.

But she’d easily agreed to watch tonight when Margaery suggested it the day before.

She only raised an eyebrow to him in response to his confused expression. Which shortly melted into a lascivious grin that she already did not like the look of, even before he nodded, “Ahh, that’s why you’re so anxious for me to get out of here. You have a _movie_ to _watch_ with a _friend_.”

The truth of the fact that she _was_ ready for him to leave, and had been since he walked in, made her stomach twist uncomfortably when paired with his insinuation. It made her huff out a laugh, “I _do_ , and she _is_. A friend.”

The knowing look he gave her was enough to immediately have her hackles raised, “Margaery, you haven’t had a woman over to your apartment who wasn’t a friend from Highgarden that you’ve known since childhood for “just a movie” in… ever.” When she merely crossed her arms and gave him a serious look, he lost the smirk on his face that was so similar to hers, “What – who do you even know who is just a friend?”

The fact that she gained the upper-hand so easily made her feel triumphant. And even slightly amused that all it took was the idea that she truly did have a female friend to throw him off-base. Still, she rolled her eyes at him, her tone dry, “Loras, you know that I’ve been spending time with Sansa Stark lately.”

He stared at her, flabbergasted, for a few moments before he threw his hands in the air, exasperated, “I thought that _getting coffee_ with her was a euphemism!”

Margaery couldn’t quite stop the chuckle that left her, unable to stop herself from teasing him, “And whose fault is that?”

Though, she did realize with somewhat of a grudging acceptance, that she _could_ see why he thought that. He wasn’t exaggerating when he brought up the fact that she didn’t really have many people that she’d let in and opened up to as a friend since living in King’s Landing.

Loras gave her a scrutinizing look, that she faced head-on, and he folded quickly, “So, you _really_ haven’t slept with her?”

A disbelieving snort of laughter left her before she shook her head at him – at the both of them, really, “No!”

When he gave her a roguish smile, she was ready to start pushing him out the door, even before he asked, “But you want to, right?”

Her mouth opened, but no words found their way out. She wasn’t in the habit of denying simple truths like that – especially not to Loras, and especially when there was absolutely nothing wrong with finding someone attractive and wanting to act on that attraction.

And, she _did_ find Sansa attractive and had wanted to act on said attraction since the first time she’d seen her picture.

Her attraction had really only grown in the past few weeks. As she’d become accustomed to Sansa’s style, with her preppy tops and tight jeans and array of cute dresses that she liked to wear. As she’d realized exactly how easy it was to make the redhead blush – and gods, was it easy.

As it was, she only shrugged, “That’s neither here nor there; friends can be attracted to one another.”

She didn’t have many friends, but she knew that there weren’t specific guidelines.

Friends could be attracted to one another. Friends could enjoy making friends blush, and enjoy the slight tremor that went through the other friend when she was kissing her cheek –

Feeling the pleasant and familiar churning in the pit of her stomach at the thought, she blinked herself out of it. It had definitely been far longer than she usually went without having sex.

The look he was giving her was incredulous, “Margaery, who _are_ you? Who is this celibate woman standing in front of me? Since when do you have a not-straight woman that you are attracted to and you don’t find a way to seduce?”

Only mildly offended, she scoffed, “I don’t _seduce_ people.” Generally. Usually, a seduction wasn’t really required, “Besides, Sansa isn’t… like that.”

He gave her a look that made her know he was simultaneously curious and humoring her, “Like what, exactly?”

She shrugged, twirling her hand in the air lightly like it would aid her explanation, “She isn’t interested in things that are… short term, or purely physical.” She aimed a wry look at him, “She believes in love.”

The laugh that he barked out made her cringe, “Just your type,” he teased, before adding speculatively, “It’s unlike you to seek out other… companionship.”

“You make it sound like I’m a hooker or something. Hanging out with Sansa is… fun,” she settled on after going blank for a moment as to how to describe it. She wasn’t even sure fun was the right word; it wasn’t the _wrong_ word, but she enjoyed spending time with Sansa for a multitude of reasons, and she wasn’t about to start waxing poetic about the virtues of friendship to her brother, “It’s nice to have a friend who isn’t a family member, which Renly practically is.”

Loras gave her a look of exaggerated warmth, “Look at you – making _friends_. Well, friend. I’m so proud of you for looking beyond your urges,” he winked at her, “Especially when there is a woman as good-looking as Sansa Stark involved. I’ve heard very flattering things about her.”

Before Loras could say anything that led her down that particular road again – because it was a road Margaery actively tried not go stroll down in regards to Sansa – she grabbed his sleeve and started to tug him back down the hall, “Now, you are going to leave, because she’s going to be here any moment now. And you’ll take advantage of her easily-blushing nature.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made her laugh, “Like you don’t.”

She acknowledged him with a shrug and a coquettish smile, “Well, she’s _my_ friend.”

“You’re no fun,” he sighed at her, even as he willingly walked along.

Margaery had a retort on the tip of her tongue, before the tentative knock that sounded on her door grabbed both of their attention. Anticipation slid through her, though she was careful not to look _too_ eager because she was very much aware that Loras was watching her.

“Apparently I stayed until the perfect time,” her brother told her with a grin.

It just made her shake her head, but, well, she was hardly that put out by him. Still, she warned, “Behave,” as she took a step toward the door.

But the door was slowly opened without her, as Sansa hesitantly started to walk through, a large back of food in her arms. She was picking lightly at the corner of the bag as she started to walk through the doorway, muttering to herself, “She said to just come in. So, it’s not weird.”

Margaery really didn’t know how Sansa did it – managed to be charming even when she wasn’t aware she was being watched – but she was grinning, lifting an eyebrow in Sansa’s direction.

Just as the redhead looked up, and froze upon seeing them. Blue eyes locked first on Margaery, where they stayed for a few moments, holding her gaze before dropping slightly to take in Margaery in the tank top and yoga pants that she’d changed into after getting out of her work clothes. It vaguely occurred to her that Sansa hadn’t seen her not dressed either for the office or for a function before.

The flush on Sansa’s cheeks was unmistakable as her gaze popped back up and then dodged to look at Loras. The hot feeling that slid through her at Sansa checking her out – and the way her eyes widened and mouth opened slightly – was both satisfied and wanting.

It was a familiar feeling, especially over the last few weeks with Sansa. The girl had no control over her automatic responses to her attraction, and Margaery loved it.

Sansa adjusted the hold she had with one of her arms around the bag of Dornish food that she’d picked up, so she could offer an awkward wave to Loras, “Um, hi.”

“You must be Sansa,” he gave her a pleasant, genial smile. It was amiable and charismatic, much like her brother himself was, and he reached out to offer his hand, “Margaery’s told me about you.”

Sansa’s eyes darted between them for a second, and she knew she wasn’t imagining the pleased smile that tugged at the corners of her lips, “Really?”

Shaking her head, she stepped forward to take the food from Sansa, “This is my brother, Loras.”

Those big blue eyes blinked once, then twice, in recognition, “Oh! You and Renly.”

Loras only grinned wider, “I see you’ve heard of me, too. Well, I have some movie-night business of my own to attend to, so I’ll be getting out of your way.”

As he stepped around Sansa, he flashed Margaery a knowing smile over Sansa’s shoulder, and she couldn’t help but begrudge him a chuckle, “Goodbye, Loras. Don’t fret over Valyria’s doom too much.”

His smile shifted into an innocuous one quickly, easily, as Sansa turned to face him, “It was nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure,” he assured her, and didn’t even seem like he was being insincere, which he was half of the time. “See you later, Marge.”

She grimaced at the nickname, before ushering him out of the apartment and shutting the door behind him. When she turned back to Sansa, the redhead was watching her with interest, “Do all of your brothers look like you? Loras does, very much.”

With a teasing smile, she asked, “Devastatingly good-looking?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, the and flush on her cheeks remained, “Are they all as modest as you are, too?”

Laughing lowly, she shifted the food in her grasp and nodded, “Oh, Loras and I missed the mark on the humility gene far more than either Garlan or Willas,” she admitted, unabashedly, “But while there is a resemblance between myself and all of my brothers, Loras is the closest, I think.”

Using her elbow, she nudged Sansa lightly and nodded down the hall, “The movie is set up in the living room. I’ll just grab us some plates and meet you in there?”

She enjoyed the way Sansa slowly dragged her eyes over the pictures and artwork on the walls, clearly trying to observe everything, as she slowly nodded, “Okay.”

She’d expected no less of Sansa’s curiosity, though, because she’d known even before she’d met Sansa in person that she was an inquisitive mind. It was something she’d liked about her, and it had only been farther confirmed.

As soon as she set the food down on the counter, she didn’t even have a moment to grab for plates before her phone buzzed in her pocket. She debated looking at it; she already knew who it was.

 _ **Loras – 6:41PM**_  
_So… you might have mentioned that a seduction_   
_wouldn’t even be necessary._

 _ **Loras – 6:42PM**_  
_Because that girl – very pretty, just your type –_  
_definitely has a crush on you. You do know that_  
_right?_

Margaery lightly tapped her thumbs against the sides of her phone as she blew out a low breath, as she debated what to say back.

 _ **Margaery – 6:44PM**_  
_Mind your own business, dear brother, and enjoy_  
_your movie night. Be careful or I’ll suggest Half_  
_Year Queen to Renly! :)_

Simple and effective, she decided, as she moved to start putting the food onto plates.

Of course she knew that Sansa had a little infatuation with her; even if she didn’t have a finely tuned radar for reading people, she would have been able to know that. She’d seen Sansa be checked out by several people during their times out together, let alone the comments Jeyne liked to throw to her – which she’d noted could range from exaggeratedly complimentary or nearly lewd – and none of those things resulted in the same reaction Margaery could illicit with even a wink.

Which, honestly, was delightful and… stirring. Even if it wasn’t a crush, exactly, she knew that Sansa was attracted to her, which might have been the reason she sometimes reacted the way she did to her.

But it wasn’t as though she was entirely unaffected by Sansa, either, so she figured they were even on that front. Even if she was far better at disguising it.

She opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles of water, before carefully picking up the plates and walking into the living room.

She’d expected Sansa to be sitting on the couch, waiting for her. But instead, saw her standing with her back to Margaery, looking over her bookshelf. A smirk worked its way onto her mouth, and she shook her head, of course .

As she placed everything in her arms down onto the coffee table, she took the moment to look Sansa over. A fond exasperation made her shake her head when she realized Sansa was only wearing a knitted gray sweater and no jacket; it was cold out. It was nearly November! They’d had this talk multiple times, though, and Sansa always only gave her a playful smile and insisted that she wasn’t cold.

Which was honestly true, because Margaery would often find that she was much colder than Sansa was as she would grab onto her arm as they walked.

Northern Sansa, with her red hair starkly contrasting with her sweater as it was done in a low ponytail, falling like straight silk down her back. She’d taken off the boots she’d worn over, neatly placing them next to the couch, Margaery noticed, before she walked up next to her.

Sansa glanced at her, surprise coloring her features, as she sounded impressed _, “_ You really are a fan of my mother’s.”

Margaery looked at the shelf that had all of Catelyn Stark’s novels lined up in order, taking in the slow, reverent way Sansa was running her hand over the spines of the books. She watched for a moment and wondered if Sansa realized that she instinctively traced over the _S_ in Stark on all of the spines with her index finger.

Then she turned back to Sansa, tilting her head up slightly to look her in the eye, “You thought I was lying?” she arched an eyebrow incredulously, a disbelieving smile working its way over her face.

Sansa shrugged, as she ducked her head, “No! Not…. really. But a lot of people say things that they think I want to hear, when they realize who my mother is. Especially at school, seeing as how, you know, I’m in literature,” she shook her head at herself, and Margaery watched in amusement.

When she turned again to see the book that Sansa’s hand had paused on, she nodded at it, “That one is actually my favorite.”

A large, glowing smile quickly stole over Sansa’s face, and she simply beamed down at her, “Mine, too.”

For a moment, Margaery wondered how Sansa had so much warmth – from her smile to her actual temperature – before she cleared her throat and looked back at the book – _The Princess in Disguise_ , the novel about knightly Brienne going on what should have been a simple mission but turned into her stumbling into a much greater plot, when she discovered that the girl acting as a castellan’s daughter was truly the princess that had been on the run and missing for years.

“While I do love Brienne, and I think she’s a model heroine, there is something about Alayne that I found so intriguing. I can’t wait for the next one, when they’re on the road together,” and, all right, perhaps she was actually a pretty big fan of Catelyn Stark’s books. But the first one had come out when she was really coming into her sexuality and her stance on feminism, and Brienne was a great person for that.

But Sansa’s smile only got even warmer, impossibly so, before she took on a mischievous look and whispered, “It’s really good.”

Brown eyes narrowed as her mouth fell open, “You’ve read it already?”

Blue eyes twinkled, “You know I’m her daughter right? And her number one fan,” she added, looking serious.

For some reason, she found that adorable, and she shook her head lightly before she paused, “Wait, is the dedication in that book to you?”

Margaery reached out to slide the book out from the shelf, flipping open the cover, and pointing to the inscription, _As always, thankful to my husband and my children. This book is particularly beholden to my own young princess; this book wouldn’t have been nearly the same without your strength and creativity._

Sansa leaned in, and Margaery felt her shoulder brush against her own, the fabric of her sweater soft against her skin. When she turned her head slightly to look at her, Sansa had a bashful smile on her lips, “Yes.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment, before saying, “She’s mine. I mean, Alayne Stone? I created her, with my mother. Originally, in the first draft that my mother had for the novel, Alayne wasn’t going to be an actual character, it was just going to be about Brienne, exposing the castellan while on her journey. But I had created the idea of Alayne as a princess in disguise for my Fiction Writing class, and when I was talking about it with my mom, she evolved.”

Sansa looked both proud and self-conscious, her hand coming down to fidget lightly with the bottom of her shirt. But Margaery could only give her a surprised look that melted into a soft smile.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known Sansa was bright, but this – her creativity, and knowing that she was behind creating one of Margaery’s favorite characters – made an unfamiliar warmth settle in her chest, “That’s actually very impressive, Sansa. So you _do_ write.”

There was a light blush on her cheeks, but the brightness in her eyes was unmistakable as she looked up at Margaery, “Not _really_. Just with my mom.”

She filed it away for later, because she’d learned that sometimes with Sansa it was better to let things be than to continue. Besides, “Come on, the food is getting cold. And it’s time for _you_ to get acquainted with Rhaenyra.”

She walked back toward the couch and knew Sansa was following her, even before she sat down with a sigh, “I don’t know why I agreed to watch this with you. It’s just going to be miserable.”

“Because life isn’t all about Florian and Jonquil, sweetling,” she teased, “Come, watch, and then you can have those lemon cakes that I saw in another bag for dessert.”

Three hours, a meal of Dornish food, with lemon cakes for dessert, and the rise and fall of the woman who should have won the Dance of Dragons later, Margaery muted the credits as they played on the tv, before she turned, pulling her legs up to curl under her on the couch, as she looked at Sansa.

Who, she’d learned, was very serious about not making comments during movies – which Margaery was very much the same about, and she was very grateful for it. Loras and Renly both loved to talk throughout movies they watched, and it drove her crazy.

Doe eyes took in the way Sansa had her arms crossed as she was leaning back against the couch, then the way she sighed, softly and gloomily. It gave Margaery a slight twinge of sympathy, which was odd, but she didn’t know if there was someone out there who wouldn’t feel badly when there were those big, baby blue eyes, looking so sad.

She propped her head up with her fist, as she drew out, “So… what did you think?”

The way Sansa swiveled her head to nail her with a _look_ made Margaery snort in laughter, before she indignantly crossed her arms and swung those long legs up to gracefully curl under her, in a position mirroring Margaery’s, “I can’t believe that this is your _favorite_ movie. What is wrong with you?”

The chuckle that escaped her was surprisingly loud, but… Sansa’s vexation caught her off-guard, “I love it. I love _her_.”

She’d always had a fascination with strong female historical figures.

Sansa blew out a long breath, before she began to rant, “It just makes me so _sad_. She deserved to be the queen; her father was the king and he was the one who chose her! And in the end, almost all of her children died, her dragon died, and she was all alone, being fed to a dragon by her own brother,” Sansa spoke with her hands, moving them in a distinct _what the fuck_ kind of gesture.

The agitated cadence in Sansa’s tone was unfamiliar to her, and it sparked something in her that made her sit up a little straighter, a smirk taking over instinctively. Which Sansa noticed and it made her mock-glare.

“You don’t agree? You don’t think this is sad?” Sansa asked in disbelief.

Margaery tipped her head, taking in a thoughtful breath as she felt Sansa’s wondering eyes trace over her face from a few feet away. After a long moment, she admitted, “Well, it _is_ a sad story, of course. But I don’t feel sad after watching it,” she settled on, shrugging as she brought her hand up to rest on the space of the cushion between them.

Sansa leaned in slightly and Margaery watched as those fire-touched strands brushed against the blanket she had folded at the top of her sofa. Blue eyes looked at her, interested and questioning, “What does it make you feel, then? Apparently, your human emotions don’t function the way others do,” she teased, a quick smile lighting up her features.

Margaery rolled her eyes with a scoff, tapping her hands against the fabric, working the explanation out in her mind before she settled on, “I’m not _happy_ , just not sad. But… empowered, in a way. Determined to never let that be _my_ fate.”

She wondered what Sansa thought of in the few moments where she couldn’t quite control the way her expression scrunched up in thought, before smoothing out into a teasing grin, “Well, I don’t think there is any way for you to be fed alive to a dragon.”

She shifted forward so that she could reach out to push at Sansa’s shoulder. Gently, though, not even really enough so that her hand was displaced, and she lightly traced her fingers over the knitted fabric for a moment, before dropping, “When will I stop being surprised at your cheekiness?”

Sansa laughed, but there was a slight catch in her breath, “Hopefully never, so I won’t become boring.”

Her expression leveled out slightly, but she narrowed her eyes playfully at the taller woman, “Sansa, I can honestly tell you’ve surprised me more than anything since the first time I got your message.” Margaery shook her head slightly, holding back a yawn. Her eyebrows drew together in thought for a moment before she explained more, “She – Rhaenyra, that is… I feel that if she could go through all of that in order to follow her convictions, I can follow through with mine.”

Sansa accepted this with a nod, a thoughtful look crossing her features as she absently toyed with the blanket on the back of the couch again. It was only a few inches away from here Margaery’s head was resting, and she ran her eyes over the gentle way Sansa’s fingers pulled at a loose thread.

It was things like that, the fact that she had this friendship with Sansa, where Sansa actually cared about what she wanted to say about things like her opinions on movies and books, that had made her genuinely _care_ about this friendship.

Her thoughts were cut off when Sansa abruptly sat up, leaning farther in with her agency. The movement startled her, and she looked at the redhead in surprise, eyes wide, as Sansa explained, “Oh! Speaking of your convictions! I read your interview in the paper today. I meant to text you, but it was just before I had a meeting with my professor, and I forgot.”

Margaery quirked an eyebrow, relaxing slightly when she realized that nothing was actually wrong, “I didn’t think that you really enjoyed the political section of the newspaper.”

In fact, she knew that to be true. Over their last few coffee hangouts, one of the things they’d discussed was that while Sansa was, along with her older brother Robb, the Stark child who did the best in a political setting, and was up-to-date on important matters, she largely preferred to keep out of the intricacies of it all.

It had been amusing to listen to Sansa describe the fact that she voted in every election, because she’d been raised to believe it was her duty to, and that if she couldn’t fall back in prior knowledge about a candidate, she would spend a quick half hour to look up the important topics and where each candidate stood on them.

She enjoyed the way Sansa flushed, before she rolled her eyes, “I _don’t_ , typically. But usually my _friends_ aren’t featured there. I think I’ll be paying closer attention during this race than I have during most others.”

“Aw, you’ll do it just for me?” she teased lightly. But the pleased feeling she had was real.

A grin flashed over Sansa’s face, “Shut up.” After a few seconds, she took in a breath and looked back at Margaery, looking her in the eye, “Your interview was really good, though. I don’t know how, but I feel like you effortlessly managed to condemn Cersei and talk yourself up without being super obvious about it. And you were clear about your respect for your grandmother, but firm that you are your own person,” Sansa lifted her eyebrows, her lips coming to a slight pout as she thought for a moment before she settled on saying, “It was very impressive.”

And Margaery felt a pleasant warmth coursing through her – actually flattered, now – settling thick and smooth as honey through her veins, as a delighted smile tugged at her mouth, “Sansa Stark, you flatter me.”

“I’m being serious!” she insisted, with a laugh, before she settled back against the couch once more.

She was closer, this time, after she’d leaned forward. Close enough that Margaery felt her warm breath lightly brush over her cheek, smelling of the lemon cakes Sansa had brought as dessert. She’d been this close in passing over the past few weeks – moments where she would kiss Sansa’s cheek gentle in a goodbye.

Which _was_ , in part, to actually say goodbye, of course. But then she’d realized it had given her a trill of excitement the way Sansa so obviously reacted to them – honestly, it was like Margaery had kissed her for real. And, in turn, it became like a tease for Margaery herself.

Because… it would be _so_ easy to just turn her head in those moments, or lean in right now.

After a few moments beat by, Sansa licked her lips – brown eyes following the motion closely – before she took in a quick breath and asked, with her voice shaking slightly, “How are you feeling, about all of that? The, uh, the campaign. Do you feel less stressed?”

The words broke her out of her reverie, and Margaery shook her head slightly, drawing back and collecting herself, taking in a deep breath, and releasing it with a soft giggle, “Though a movie isn’t my typical method of de-stressing, I do feel oddly better.”

She tossed Sansa a wink even though she wasn’t really joking in the slightest.

Sansa quirked an eyebrow, tilting her head in question, “What have you done in the past?”

“Oh, Sansa…” Margaery closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in through her nose, “You can’t possibly be asking me that.”

“Why not?” she asked, softly, and just – how was she so ridiculously innocent but not, at the same time?

She moved without thinking, really, shifting in enough so that she could feel the warmth from Sansa’s body, trailing her fingertips over Sansa’s hand that was resting on the back of the couch, “Darling, the biggest issue for me so far in the election has been deleting my profile on _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_.”

It was truly the biggest downside that had arisen in the past couple of weeks.

The fact of the matter was that whenever work and life in general got stressful, the best stress relief that she’d found for herself was through a physical release. While going through a hard time at work, Margaery had often found that it was the best time to on to the website and find someone to… work through her release with her.

Those blue eyes got wide as realization dawned, and those soft cheeks blushed in the way Margaery loved, “Oh. So. That was your… system.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, tracing her fingertip down Sansa’s wrist, feeling the way her heartbeat sped up, and she both heard and felt the way her breath hitched, as she responded, her voice low, “My _system_ , yes. It worked very well. What is it that _you_ do, to de-stress?”

Fuck her, she honestly shouldn’t have phrased it that way, and she scolded herself inwardly. Because any images she had of Sansa _de-stressing_ were not at all innocent. A buzz of arousal shot through her, trying to push away images of Sansa _de-stressing_ herself.

It seemed that Sansa was on the same page, though, because Margaery could see that she wasn’t just blushing now, but a shiver of excitement ran through her.

The redhead cleared her throat, and swayed closer to Margaery, and blue eyes darkened into a stormy gaze, before she started to speak, “I, um… write. Or go for a run. O-or I sometimes do yoga, if I don’t feel like going out.”

Her voice, which was normally so clear, dropped enough to send a shudder up Margaery’s spine, and she hummed low in her throat, “Yoga?”

She didn’t realize that she’d inched in, until she was close enough to see the way Sansa’s eyelashes fluttered, casting light shadows over her cheeks. She had freckles this close, Margaery realized, and gods, it would be so _easy_ to lean in.

“Um… yes. It really – um,” she broke off to lick her lips and brown eyes took it in, hungrily, “Loosens you up. And… relaxes you.”

She could hear in her ragged inhale that Sansa wanted this, too; she _knew_ Sansa wanted her, too. She’d seen it in the way Sansa looked at her, _all_ of the time. And she’d wanted Sansa for months now, ever since she’d gotten that first message.

Margaery knew for certain that _de-stressing_ with Sansa would be amazing. The idea of fucking Sansa, of being the first woman to have the honor of it… the desire settled low in her stomach.

Even just kissing her, with those full lips so inviting and only inches away from her own, was unimaginably appealing.

She felt Sansa’s tentative fingertips brush over her own curling lightly around hers, as her other hand started to crawl from where it rested between them to land on Sansa’s thigh, thumb stroking her through her leggings, her own eyes closing as her head tilted.

It was Sansa’s stunted whisper of, “I'm - I.. Margaery?” that made her stop.

Because this was _Sansa_. Sansa who trembled at a kiss on her cheeks. Whose blush Margaery reveled in from a simple touch. Who Margaery very much wanted to kiss, but…

She bit off a deep breath, and anticipation that had built up in her stomach dying down as she leaned back a bit, sliding her hand off of Sansa’s thigh. Because regardless of the fact of attraction and wanting, they were _not_ on the same page when it came to anything involving romance.

Sansa had been very clear, the entirety of their friendship, that she’d longed for something deep. Something lasting. Something that Margaery herself didn’t even want, let alone was unable to provide for her anyway.

Sansa was her friend, who Margaery was certain was turning into a good friend, at that. She was determined to be a good one, back. Even if that meant calling back her own urges when she felt them, because she didn’t want to be _that person_ who took advantage of awkwardly adorable Sansa Stark.

The whole reason she’d even been talking to her in the beginning was because she wanted to help guide her away from anyone who would try to take advantage of her.

Holding back a sigh at herself, she lightly rubbed her fingers along the back of Sansa’s hand as she pulled all of the way back, taking in Sansa’s flushed cheeks and confused, widely-blinking ocean blue eyes.

“Maybe we should do yoga, some day. Even though the movie was good, too,” she spoke softly, trying to use a light tone. It normally wasn’t difficult for her, masking over any emotion.

She could feel Sansa’s deep breath as she breathed out and sat back, looking dazed, “Maybe.”

Margaery took a moment to close her eyes, taking in as much of a calming breath as she could, before she asked, “Do you want to watch another movie?”

“Sure,” Sansa whispered back, and despite the fact that Margaery could see that her hands were still slightly shaking, she gave Margaery a slight smile.

Which Margaery returned, even as she tried to keep her mind off of yoga with Sansa. Friends. She might not have many – any – female friends, but regardless of what Loras thought, she could control herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is very much welcome and appreciated! Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos so far, and thanks, in general, for reading.
> 
> I also just wanted to say that I apologize for when the chapters can take me a little while to get posted. I'm working on my master's degree, and sometimes the work catches up to me!


	9. How To Put Yourself Out There

Sansa was _nervous_. There was no way around it – she was nervous, pure and simple, and she had been all day long.

She wasn’t even sure how she’d gotten herself into this situation; okay, that was a lie, she definitely knew _exactly_ how she’d gotten into this situation.

She was in this situation because of the women in her life. Because Margaery Tyrell was ridiculously beautiful and sexy, even when she wasn’t trying to be. Which meant that Sansa was alarmingly, stomach-tingling, palms-sweating attracted to her.

Which would have been fine, except for the fact that her crush on the brunette had only grown in the last few weeks. It shouldn’t have been fair, she’d lamented – to herself – that Margaery was not only as gorgeous as she was, but she was also ridiculously smart, funny, ambitious…

And if _all of that_ hadn’t sealed the deal on her feelings, there was the fact that Margaery had those sparing moments of vulnerability with Sansa, which made her feel special, in a way. In the way that she knew Margaery didn’t have those moments often with other people.

Sansa could have managed all of that, maybe. If not for their movie night last week. Where Margaery had been about to kiss her. Even though she was certainly no connoisseur of being with women, she’d known without a doubt that it was going to happen. It had been written into the way in which Margaery had moved, the way her fingers had slid over Sansa’s thigh, in a slow, smooth, warm, _knowing_ gesture. How those big, brown eyes had glinted before dipping to look at Sansa’s lips…

Feeling herself flush at the memory, she shook her head and brought herself back to the moment. The moment where she was standing in her door and staring at her open closet, trying to decide which jacket she should wear over her dress.

This whole evening promised to be absolutely ridiculous, and it all started with that _almost_ kiss, which led Sansa to return home and face-plant into the couch, grumbling about her ridiculous crush that Margaery _clearly_ didn’t feel back – she was still trying fairly hard not to think about that point too much.

That was where the second woman in her life had factored into the equation. Because Jeyne had been eating her ice cream right out of the carton at the foot of the couch, and Sansa had pressed her cheek against her friend’s leg when she’d settled into position.

At first, Jeyne had gone straight into protective-best-friend mode – alarmingly, Jeyne had two gears where she went full speed ahead in terms of friendship, and they were pushing Sansa into things she didn’t want to do, and being ready to cut someone who hurt her.

But once she’d told Jeyne about the events of the night, Jeyne had sighed and brushed her hand over Sansa’s hair in a comforting gesture. Which had worked to calm her for – oh, all of thirty seconds, before her friend had announced that it was time for Sansa to try to “put herself out there” for women other than Margaery.

And Sansa couldn’t exactly disagree, because her crush seemed hopeless. So, for once when it came to Sansa’s dating life, they were on the same page.

It seemed simple enough in theory, but in practice… well, Sansa really had no clue how to go about diminishing her feelings without changing their friendship.

Which she didn’t want to change, at all. She liked how Margaery would text her whenever something crazy happened at the Red Keep or with thoughts and ideas about her campaign. How they hung out a few times a week, whether it was to get coffee or to watch some more movies or to have dinner. The way Margaery was so easily affectionate. She liked all of those things, a lot, and she very much wanted to keep them the way they were.

So, tonight was about trying to take control over her feelings, and about “putting herself out there.”

Only, she never should have agreed to anything Jeyne said, especially when her friend had declared that she found the _perfect thing_. And she had _no clue_ how in seven hells Jeyne even found out about a lesbian speed dating event for queer women happening at a posh bar over on Rhaenys’s Hill.

She also had no idea what someone was even supposed to wear to _speed dating_.

With a groan, she walked back a step so her knees hit the edge of her bed and she sat down. The nerves and just overall feeling of _this was going to be a disaster_ were twisting in her stomach so heavily that it was overwhelming.

She jumped when Jeyne pounded on her door, “You’d better be ready in there and looking good! We’re leaving in twenty minutes!”

Heaving a sigh, she stood and strode to the door, quickly pulling it open to look down at Jeyne. Whom she was always taller than, but she was nearly towering over her given the fact that she was wearing her shoes for the night – the electric blue fuck-me pumps that she’d had to dig out from the back of her closet from… god only knew the last time she’d worn them – and Jeyne was barefoot.

Her friend gave her an appraising look for a second, “You’re looking sexy.” She gave her a decisive nod, “I approve.”

Really, she’d been a little unsure as to what she should wear, but she figured she should wear something that was eye-catching. After all, it was _speed dating_ ; Sansa wasn’t entirely certain of what exactly happened, but the point was to capture attention in a short amount of time, right? The figure-hugging, mid-thigh length black dress she wore sparingly would probably suit her well for the occasion.

Blue eyes rolled, hard, exasperation coloring her tone, “Well, I can rest easy now, knowing you approve.” It wasn’t until then that she ran her eyes down Jeyne as well, taking in the fact that she was wearing one of her own tight dresses that she typically donned for a night out, before her words hit her, “Wait – _we_? _We’re_ leaving in twenty minutes?”

Jeyne only nodded, “I know. I have to finish getting ready, too.”

But before she could walk away, Sansa reached out to stop her, wrapping her hand lightly around her wrist, “You are _not_ going. Jeyne! You’re not even gay!”

The brunette waved her hand around as if wiping away the question, before reminding her, “Neither are you.”

A long-suffering groan worked its way out of her throat, “Let me rephrase: you’re _straight_. Why would you even want to go? Because I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be able to sit by my side and interview women for me,” she jibed.

Sansa didn’t exactly know what the protocol for speed dating was at all, but at least she was fairly certain of that much.

Jeyne scoffed, “My beautiful buttercup, you _are_ aware that this is taking place on the second floor of the Dragon Pit, right?”

Sansa merely stared at her, her lack of recognition as to why that was important apparent as she only lifted a confused eyebrow, “And?”

“And! Sansa, the Dragon Pit is the hottest club in King’s Landing right now, and their event room is rented out to _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_ for the night! Which means that anyone who attends this lady loving affair is also welcome downstairs in the club when it’s all over! Frankly, I would be remiss to not go because of that alone, let alone the fact that I want to keep an eye on the prize for you,” Jeyne ended, her tone lowered into a quiet reasoning. As if what she’d said made perfect sense to a logical person.

And Sansa could only stare for a few seconds as she wrapped her mind around it all. She wished she was surprised by anything Jeyne did or said, but… “Wait, _how_ did you know that _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_ is hosting this? Why are you so involved on that site?”

Jeyne shrugged, before giving Sansa a look like she was being slow, “I’m on the mailing list, now, after using my email to sign you up. And since you have an account and everything, you were able to sign up for three spots. I think they’re trying to bring in higher numbers.”

Sansa stared at her friend incredulously before took a deep breath, shaking her hair back over her shoulders – she’d curled it for the evening – as she crossed her arms, “Jeyne Poole, you are _not_ coming to lesbian speed dating with me.”

Jeyne was genuinely indignant as she stared up at her, “Why not?!”

“Because –” she had to cut herself off, calling on all of the patience she possibly could, before a knock on the front door interrupted her.

Jeyne took advantage of it, and before Sansa could even try to walk out of her room, her friend reached up to grab her shoulders and push her back a step, “That’s for me. You keep getting ready, time is ticking.”

She resolutely pulled the door shut, and left Sansa staring at it for a few seconds, as she tried to wrap her head around the craziness that was Jeyne.

It was her phone’s buzzing that drew her out of her thoughts, and she was thankful, because after being on edge all day about speed dating – let alone anything extra Jeyne was going to throw at her – she could use a distraction.

_**Arya – 6:42PM** _   
_hey so my tournament in Braavos is over soon_

Eyebrows drawing together in confusion, she rolled her eyes. A very Arya text, indeed.

_**Sansa – 6:44PM**_  
 _I know. Not only did mom tell me, but did you_  
_forget that you texted the group the video of you_  
_practically killing that boy during your semi-finals?_

_**Arya – 6:47PM  
**_ _seven hells sans the text wasn’t finished. it was_  
_actually supposed to be this:_

_**Arya – 6:48PM**_  
 _hey so my tournament in Braavos is over soon_  
_AND i’m going to be in KL for some training for_  
_a little bit_

**_Arya – 6:49PM_  
** …  

Sansa shook her head, huffing out a breath as she quickly replied, remembering the last time her sister had asked to stay with her for the month that her training company was going to be in King’s Landing for a tournament.

_**Sansa – 6:50PM  
** No._

_**Sansa – 6:51PM**_  
 _No, you may NOT stay at my apartment. No, you_  
_may NOT “crash on the couch” and no, you may_  
_certainly not commandeer MY bed to sleep in because_  
_“your back hurts” after training._

The reply she got back was faster than typical for Arya – who liked to take a lifetime to answer something when she wasn’t getting anything in return.

_**Arya – 6:54PM**_  
 _sansa!! come the fuck on, i’m not THAT bad! i_  
_have nowhere else to go. you’re going to throw_  
_your only sister out on the street just like that?_

She hated that a snort of laughter left her at Arya’s words. A few years ago, her sister would have laughed in Sansa’s face if she suggested she stay at her apartment rather than with her the company her trainer worked for.

_**Sansa – 6:56PM**_  
 _On the street? The apartments that your company_  
_buys out for you all are pre-paid for! You used to_  
_love staying in them, what happened to that?_

She tossed her phone down onto the bed and dragged her hands through her hair with a sigh. Okay, she might have been asking for this when she said she was wanting a distraction.

Her phone buzzed again.

_**Arya – 6:59PM**_  
 _uh yah i liked the apartments they had us living_  
_in before the fucking waif bitch was sharing my_  
_apartment with me! now i have to live with her all of_  
_the time whenever we’re away at competition and she’s_  
_THE WORST._

_**Arya – 7:00PM**_  
 _i think she’s gonna murder me in my sleep one day!!_  
_do you want that on your conscience?_

_**Sansa – 7:02PM**_  
 _And I’m the one who has always been called_  
_dramatic?_

With that – because she knew her sister would be indignant at the jab – she put her phone down again and turned to face her closet. This night might end up being a mess – in fact, she was sure it would – but it was happening, anyway.

She reached out to tug out her jacket, before her phone started ringing. A quick, breathless laugh escaped her as she finished shrugging on her jacket before she answered without a look at the screen, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, “Look, you could even stay with Gendry if you wanted. You know I’m not going to tell mom and dad that you’re staying with your little boyfriend.”

A few seconds of silence beat by, and Sansa’s eyebrows drew together in confusion, wondering if maybe the line had dropped – because that wasn’t rare when Arya was making calls from Braavos.

Before a familiar voice drawled out, “I don’t believe that I would like to take you up on your offer to stay with this boy, darling.”

Immediately, she stopped fiddling with the sleeve of her coat and she snapped to attention, feeling herself blush. “I – Margaery! Hi. Um. I thought you were Arya. My sister,” she tacked on, uselessly, because she knew she’d told Margaery enough about her family so far, let alone the fact that Margaery already knew some of the basics anyway.

“I’m sorry to disappoint,” she murmured, mirth clear in her tone.

“You’re not,” she was quick to assure, even as she cringed at herself, because – could she ever be any more obvious?

Margaery cleared her throat, “Well, I was just calling to ask if you were busy tonight? I know you said earlier that you were just going to be grading papers and that everything was okay, but you sounded a little off yesterday.”

Sansa’s mouth quirked up in a smile against her own accord, as a pleasant warmth cut through the nerves that had been living in her stomach since she’d decided to do this _thing_ tonight. Because Margaery was perceptive like that, and she cared to do things like call to check in with her.

And, honestly, Sansa couldn’t think of something she’d rather be doing than hanging out with Margaery tonight. There was no question that she’d certainly rather be there than _speed dating_. Which… was probably why she should go to the event tonight.

So that warmth was short-lived, before blue eyes opened widely, and she tugged lightly at the bottom of her jacket as a slight bump of panic set through her, “I – um. I thought you were working late tonight?”

It was easier to hedge around answering, because she hadn’t actually told Margaery what she was doing. Not that she thought Margaery would really _care_ , because she definitely wouldn’t. But for her own dignity; Margaery was the woman who walked into a room and turned every head.

Sansa was too nervous to even properly use the dating site, and was going to _speed dating_.

Margaery sighed, and Sansa felt like she could hear the stress in the simple sound, “Yes, well, I _do_ have work to do, but a lot of it is easily done from home, and I’ve already been at the office for a few hours later than any sane person could handle. Besides, I was worried about you, after you seemed to skittish yesterday.”

She thought back to their coffee date, where Margaery had been her regular self, and had gotten Sansa’s tea before she’d even arrived and then had threaded her arm through Sansa’s. She’d felt warm from both of those things, and had only become nervous when Margaery had asked after her plans for the following day – tonight, her speed dating night.

Whatever had come over her that commandeered her into lying had turned her into a mess.

She felt the same feeling echo inside of her right now, and she let out a nervous chuckle, “Um, no. I’m not – I’m good.”

“Sansa,” it was all Margaery had to say, and she in the way she said Sansa’s name she was demanding and yielding at the same time. Like she only had to say that one thing, and Sansa was compelled to answer her.

It was kind of like a weapon, Sansa decided, and she knew that Margaery knew exactly what she was doing.

She only hesitated for a moment before she leaned back against her closet door, tipping her head back against it, as she admitted, “I’m not grading papers, tonight. There’s, well, there’s this, um, _thing_ that I’m going to. And I don’t really want to go, and I’m not sure about it, but…” she trailed off, rolling her eyes at herself.

Margaery let out a soft, teasing laugh, “Okay, then, Ms. Vague. Are you going to tell me more, or am I going to be worrying all night that you’re being held at knifepoint?”

She only sounded like she was half-kidding, though, and Sansa rubbed her hand against her stomach as if that would work to calm the tumultuous churning happening in there – a mixture of this _feeling_ she got whenever she was talking to Margaery, and the fear of this _speed dating_ , and now the fact that she was lying to Margaery about it.

Honestly, the one person who she could probably even ask for advice about this whole thing was Margaery. Because even though Sansa liked her, and this just made her feel more pathetic, if any woman knew her enough to know that she would be freaking out about this, it was the brunette.

Which was what prompted the words to spill out in a rush, “I’m going, like, dating tonight? Speed dating,” she added, rolling her eyes, “Jeyne found out about it. And I didn’t want to tell you because I–” she snapped her mouth shut, flushing, because she was _not about to reveal her crush_ on this phone call, “Because I’m me, and I’m _nervous_ ,” she confessed.

Then, there was silence.

She waited for a few moments, thinking that maybe Margaery was amused by it all or didn’t know what to say – even though Margaery seemed to always have something to say. But when more seconds ticked by, she frowned.

She was waiting for a chuckle – Margaery had a soft, teasing one that she could practically hear in her mind, and the longer that went by without her hearing it only made the bad feeling she had get worse.

After checking to see if the line had somehow disconnected – and finding that it wasn’t – she cleared her throat, “Um, Margaery?”

The older woman let out a breath, “I’m here, sorry. I’m just surprised. I thought you weren’t interested in meeting women right now?”

Sansa shrugged to herself, considering how to answer something that wasn’t, _I’ve already met one – you!_ And settled on, “I am interested. I just don’t… I don’t think it’s going to go well. I have no idea what to do or say, and there are going to be so many women there, who are pretty, and probably know a lot more than I do.”

Margaery hummed under her breath, and Sansa found it oddly comforting, before she spoke in a firm yet reassuring voice, “Sansa, darling, you are _gorgeous_ and you have a lot to offer. Those women would be fools not to be interested.”

She desperately tried not to take heart at the words, and tried to ignore the way they made her heart flutter in her chest, even as she felt herself blush, managing to get out, “Thank you.”

“Now. When is this whole thing starting?” Margaery asked, and Sansa listened to the sound of her heels pounding on the sidewalk as she walked – probably out of the Red Keep.

Shaking herself into the moment, she bit her lip, “Um, soon. I’m supposed to be leaving here, like…” she pulled her phone down to glimpse at the clock, “A few minutes ago, actually. I’m surprised Jeyne hasn’t come barging in here.”

She was actually kind of shocked.

Margaery let out a light laugh – almost like the one Sansa had been expecting a bit earlier, but just a bit _off_ , “Perhaps _you_ should go find _her_ , then.” The laughter trailed off, “And be careful tonight. Remember everything I’ve told you about women, okay?”

She licked her lips, nodding to her empty room, “I’ll try.”

Sansa took a few seconds after they disconnected the call to gather herself – because this was happening. Before she double-checked to make sure she had everything, and left her room.

Only to pause as she saw Jeyne and Mya glaring at one another in the hall. She didn’t even get a moment to ask _why_ Mya was here before her friend turned to face her, “Sansa, your _best friend_ is insane.”

Jeyne interjected, “Look, Sansa got three spots to reserve at speed dating tonight, and I invited you because I _thought_ you’d want to support her! Some friend you are,” she grumbled.

Sansa looked between them before focusing on Jeyne, incredulous, “You got Mya over here, without telling her where we were going?”

“Yes!” Mya insisted, clearly agitated, “She told me that you wanted to hang out, and when she let me into your apartment, she tells me that I _look great for the gay dating occasion_!” she gestured up and down herself, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, before she threw Jeyne a dirty look, “And I still think that’s ridiculously stereotypical and rude.”

Jeyne rolled her eyes, though there was the familiar gleam in them that Sansa knew meant she was loving messing with Mya like this, “Don’t get so grouchy; I was _kidding_. I mean, I live with the bisexual beauty and she’s a total femme.”

Mya glared as she grumbled, “Regardless, I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

“That’s because you’re not comfortable in your sexuality,” Jeyne nodded sharply, with faux-sympathy, and a shit-eating grin.

Which only made Mya roll her eyes, “ _No_ , it’s because I think it’s kind of rude to give a woman false hope that I could be interested. You don’t feel that way?”

Jeyne narrowed her eyes, “False hope? Maybe you’ll meet someone! Maybe I’ll meet someone! And most importantly, we can vet the _someone’s_ that Sansa is going to meet!”

Seven hells, what in the world was her life turning into? Before she could allow a headache to come over her, Sansa held up her hand, “That’s enough! Mya, thank you for having some freaking common sense. Jeyne, you’re crazy, and you aren’t coming,” she told her, as firmly as she could.

If Sansa was going to do this, she was going to have to do it on her own.

Jeyne’s eyebrows rose, impressed, “Damn. Keep that can-do attitude on your dates.”

Sansa sighed, before she lifted her hand to tug lightly at Jeyne’s dark hair, “You’re the _worst_. I mean that. And Mya, I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

Her friend merely shrugged, “Honestly, I should have known something was up when _Jeyne_ told me we were hanging out. You look great, though. Knock them dead!”

Despite the fact that she stayed to hear them bicker – only stopping, aghast, when she called them an old married couple – for a few more minutes, and to continue to refute any argument Jeyne could come up with to go to lesbian speed dating with her, Sansa found herself at the club.

She arrived right on time, and nervously gave her name to the man at the door, who directed her up a set of stairs. Sansa followed his direction, her hands tugging lightly at the hem of her dress as she tried to hide the fact that she was so nervous, she might throw up.

The music from the club was blaring when she walked in, and dimmed more and more as she made her way up the side stairwell, fading into a quieter, somewhat calming jazz that become clearer as she opened the door into the event room.

And then froze where she stood as she tried to take it all in, blue eyes wide.

There were women everywhere. Which, she knew would happen, on the fundamental level of the fact that this was an event for queer women. But… Sansa had never been to a place that had so many women who were all gathered for the same purpose of finding another woman.

There were more than Sansa had been expecting – though, _what_ exactly she’d been expecting, she didn’t even truly know.

It was exciting, though, in a way. Because she hadn’t even met other not-straight women when she’d been coming to terms with her sexuality, and standing here in the room with so many people who had all felt that same experience – well, it made the butterflies that were flying in her stomach not be made out of nerves, alone.

She wondered if Margaery had ever been to something like this. Probably not, though Sansa could imagine that Margaery would walk away with all of the women throwing themselves at her. She could charm them with her face alone, never mind the actual conversations –

_Stop thinking about Margaery_ , she directed, because it was truly the only way she thought she would get through the night.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” came a playful voice from her left, that startled her enough to make her jump, “But we’re going to begin soon.”

_So much for any semblance of playing it cool_ , she cursed herself, before offering a small smile even before she turned to face the owner of the voice. It was already embarrassing enough for having been caught just _staring_ like an idiot, let jumping like an easily scared rabbit.

She turned to see a pretty woman, with jet-black hair that was pulled back into a braid, and eyes that matched. They were a glinting black, and the best way she could think to describe them was striking. She had a darker complexion than Sansa herself did, with perfectly tan skin. There was the hint of a smile playing at her mouth as she looked up at Sansa from where she stood, several inches shorter.

Clearing her throat, Sansa forced herself to take a deep breath and concentrate on _not_ blushing as deep of a red as possible, “I – sorry. But… what do I, um, do?” her voice unintentionally dropped to a whisper as her hand vaguely gestured out to the room.

Seven hells. She should just leave, now.

The shorter woman’s features shifted into a full smile now, “Definitely a first timer, then. I thought so,” she tilted her head as she ran her eyes down Sansa’s body in a quick yet obvious way, before lazily working back up to her eyes. “Well, for starters, I’m Elia Sand. My mother created _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_ ,” she gestured over her shoulder to where an older, attractive woman stood, surveying the area and talking to another dark-haired girl.

She watched her for a few moments, before looking back at Elia, “So, you’re here for work. Not for…” she trailed off, blue eyes darting to where the plethora of women stood.

Elia’s grin was fast and devious, “Work now, play later.” She shot her a wink, which damnably made Sansa flush – she was terrified that she might have a permanent one after tonight – before leading them a few feet over to a table, “Now, tell me, Red, what’s your name?”

“Sansa. Sansa Stark,” she added on after a moment, inwardly rolling her eyes at herself because who did she think she was? An action movie hero? Maybe she _should_ have allowed Jeyne to come – Jeyne would have no problem with any of this.

But Elia didn’t seem to mind, and she just reached out to pick up a nametag that Sansa hadn’t noticed before, that read her name in large letters, “One of our last few to arrive. Are your two guests also coming?”

Shit. She froze for a moment, her hand in the air, and suddenly felt bad. As though she’d RSVP’d to an event with a lie – only it wasn’t even her fault. She had to clear her throat again before she managed to answer, “Um, no. They were… sick.”

Dark eyebrows rose, but she didn’t seem upset. If anything, the girl looked amused, and she just nodded, “No problem,” her voice lowered conspiratorially, “Nervous people are no-shows all of the time at these. It’s the brave ones who… come out.”

Her stomach flip-flopped, and she found herself shaking her head, “No, I’m not – I’m just, I mean. I’m not _brave_ , I’m just bisexual,” the words left her, and that was it. She was done for.

Elia watched her for a moment, before she threw her head back and laughed, and her hand came out to land softly on Sansa’s forearm, “You are something, Sansa, Sansa Stark. Mark my words. I even wish I wasn’t here for work, myself.”

Sansa had no idea why that worked to make her feel a little bit better – still like her stomach had frogs leaping around, but that definitely wasn’t going to go away – and she reached out to take her nametag, muttering under her breath, “Well, from your mouth to the lesbian’s ears.”

She froze when she realizes what she’d said, even as Elia chuckled again, amusement written all over her face. Then she shook her head slightly, the dark braid she had her hair in swinging over her shoulder and down her back, “All right, so what is going to happen is this: based on your profile, you’ve all been given a number for predicted compatibility, either a one or a two. All of the ones will be sitting on the side against the wall, and they’ll stay there,” she gestured at the long row of two-person tables, where one chair, indeed, was against the wall. Many people were already sitting in those seats. Then she moved to gesture at the chairs across from them, “And twos will sit across from the ones, and will switch tables.”

Elia glanced down to a clipboard that was situated on the side of the table, before looking back up at Sansa, to inform her, “You’re a one; you’ll sit there,” she pointed to a table on the end – the closest to the door, “Against the wall. And every five minutes, we’ll sound a buzzer, which is the signal for the twos to switch to the table to their right. It goes on for an hour – with a five minute break in the middle – and on average, you’ll meet between ten to twelve women, depending on how smoothly it all goes.”

Sansa took it all in, unable to stop fidgeting with her nametag, as she looked around and bit her lip, the anxieties that she had about this whole thing driving her to turn back to Elia and ask, “What then?”

She gave Sansa a small smile, amused if anything, as she pulled out a small, blank white card and a pen, “ _Then_ , you write the name of all of the women who you’d like to talk to a bit more, and at the end you’ll give us the cards, and we’ll contact you with the names and numbers of the women who you’ve matched with. Or,” her grin turned mischievous, “You can go downstairs to the club after and… _get to know_ anyone who strikes your fancy.”

The glint in those dark eyes made Sansa’s heart beat faster as she shook her head, “Um, probably not.”

“Your prerogative,” Elia’s face melted back into a more reserved grin. Still playful, though, as she gestured over to the table she’d pointed to a few moments before, “Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking your seat, and we’ll get started.”

Sansa took a deep breath, and ran her hands down the sides of her dress once more, as if gearing herself up, before she felt a soft touch of fingertips against her arm. It was gone within a moment, though, and she turned in confusion just as Elia leaned in a bit to whisper, “Don’t worry. It’ll go smoother than you’re imagining.”

Sansa was as comforted as she could be, though she didn’t believe that.

As she walked to her seat, she slid her jacket off of her shoulders, letting it fall down over her arms before folding it over the back of her chair. The woman who was already seated at the table next to her was giving her an appraising, and she was already giving her a small smile in response before she even realized with a jolt that she was _checking her out_.

That in this room, any woman who was like giving her that look was probably checking her out.

She barely had any time to process it all before it was announced that they would begin. _She wasn’t ready!_ But that didn’t matter, because within the first few moments, as her stomach tied up into tight knots and she sat with her back ramrod straight, a woman was sliding in across from her.

The woman was older, maybe thirty or so, with blonde hair, and she was already wearing a sly grin as she slid into the seat across from her, placing the glass she’d clearly gotten from the bar at the far end of the room down on the table.

“Well, hello,” she gave Sansa a quick-and-obvious roaming of the eyes that didn’t feel particularly flattering, but she felt her hands start to shake nonetheless.

“Um. Hi,” Sansa offered with a nervous smile back, and she wondered what exactly she was supposed to say next.

But it didn’t matter, as the woman offered her hand, “Meredyth,” she continued speaking in that low tone, and Sansa couldn’t help but feel like it was like a B-list version of Margaery’s flawlessly effortless murmur – _stop_.

“Sansa,” she supplied, even though, well, it was right there on her nametag, and she reached over to shake her hand.

And just as she made contact, she felt the woman – Meredyth – shift so that her foot stroked along her calf, and she pulled away with a jerk of her hand, shocked. Quickly followed by mortification, as her wrist bumped into Meredyth’s drink, and the glass knocked over easily, the contents spilling onto the blonde’s lap.

Wide-eyed, and feeling her cheeks burning as a low-key panic set in, Sansa looked frantically around for a napkin, “I – I’m sorry! I can go get–”

Her spluttering apology was cut short by a tight smile, and Sansa tried to convince herself with a sinking feeling that the tone for the evening wasn’t set in stone.

The second date went a little bit better. Kind of. As in, no liquids were spilled.

They managed introductions, this time a short girl who seemed to be around her own age, who gave her a pleasant smile. Larra, was her name, and she had brown hair that was a little duller than Margaery’s –

Nope.

“What is it that you do, Sansa?” she asked, leaning in on her elbow, lifting an inquisitive brow.

She let out an audible breath of relief – this much, she could do, and she found herself smiling slightly as she kept her hands folded in her lap, “I’m getting my graduate degree, at King’s Landing University right now. The degree will be in literature, and I graduate in May.”

The other woman’s smile had dropped, though, and it caused her own smile to fade, as she wondered what in the world she could have possibly said wrong.

She didn’t have to wait to find out.

“A degree in literature? That’s quite an unreliable field to find a job in,” her frown deepened, “What exactly do you intend to do with that?” she didn’t give Sansa a chance to answer, though, before she continued, “I mean, if you’re going to get a degree in literature, you might as well just throw your money away, right?”

Needless to say, that one didn’t go well from there, though Sansa was more irritated than anything in the end of it.

The third one went… a little better. Beth was her name, and she sat down with a slightly reserved smile that Sansa thought might match her own.

After the first two, she was feeling slightly less like she was about to jump out of her own skin – though she felt Elia was exaggerating by saying it would go “smoothly” – but still completely out of place.

She wondered if it showed on her expression.

They sat in a slightly awkward silence for a few moments before Beth chuckled in a way that Sansa-recognized as self-deprecating, “You’d think after doing so many of these kinds of things, I’d be used to them by now.”

Sansa found her smile growing, because _finally_ , this sounded like something she could relate to, and she sighed in relief, “I know. I mean, kind of. I’ve never actually been to one of these kinds of events before.”

“New to _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_? What did you use before?” she asked, looking genuinely curious.

And Sansa shrugged, flushing, “Um, nothing? I’ve never really done the online dating thing.”

Beth’s hazel eyes widened, “How did you find women before? You found them all in real life?”

A quick, harsh laugh escaped her before she could help it as she quickly shook her head, “No, no. That’s not – I’ve never… I mean, I’m new to all of this.”

The worst way to explain it, really, but… it seemed that Beth understood when her smile dimmed remarkably, baffling her. Granted, Sansa’s only experience with any queer women so far was with, well, Margaery. But Margaery had never _judged_ her for not having been with a woman before.

Gods. She wished she could monitor her thoughts before they actually occurred, and she could blacklist Margaery’s name so that it couldn’t make any more appearances while she was at _speed dating_.

Regardless, Sansa had no idea what she could have done wrong.

Until Beth had no problem ranting to Sansa about her ex-girlfriend – a bisexual, something Beth was _not_ interested in – had left her to go back to her previous boyfriend.

The entire rest of the three and a half minutes they had together left Sansa with her stomach churning uncomfortably, and a bad taste in her mouth. Bi-phobia was clearly alive and kicking, and Sansa hadn’t exactly experienced it yet.

And when the fourth woman sat down, Sansa had already lost all hope, because it wasn’t as though she’d really had much of it to begin with.

“I’m Sansa, I’m a graduate literature student, and I’m a newly-discovered bisexual,” she blurted out, as soon as the new woman sat across from her.

Her eyes widened when she realized that she’d actually said that _out loud_ , and as much as she wanted to just lay her head on the table as she could feel her cheeks burn, she didn’t. She honestly expected the woman to hear all of that and decide to walk away of her own accord.

Sansa wouldn’t exactly blame her, because she was probably seeming like a crazy person.

Shoulders slumped slightly in defeat now, she took in a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She’d known there was a reason she shouldn’t have come tonight. Actually, there were several.

The woman, who was nearly as tall as Sansa herself, with shortly cropped blonde hair, only smiled with what appeared to be sincere amusement, “I’m Alys, I’m a nurse, and a lifelong lesbian. Would you like to know my sign, too?” she joked.

And it made some of the tension that had set in her shoulders loosen just a little as she quirked a smile back, “I suppose it couldn’t _hurt_.”

“Well, I’m a Gemini,” she tossed in a wink, before she propped her elbow on the table to lean in and whisper, “And, to be entirely honest, I’m thrilled that you were made a one while I was a two; as soon as you walked in, I noticed you. And, if I’m not mistaken, I thought you might have been looking at me, too.”

Even as she flushed, Sansa shrugged a shoulder, “Honestly, not really. I was just trying to take it all in,” she was about to dive into the fact that she’d never been somewhere where they were so many queer women, when she saw Alys’s face fall, smile dimming.

It took Sansa a moment to realize what she possibly could have said wrong. But when she did, it was too late to salvage, and she honestly wouldn’t know how, anyway.

The fifth woman who approached her table had big brown eyes, and long light brown hair, with a knowing smile, and the combination made Sansa’s stomach swoop for a moment, causing her to sit up in her chair, defeated posture leaving her.

Her nametag read Bella, and she gave Sansa a sympathetic look, “Rough time of it tonight? I know, some of the women can come off a little… strong. Sometimes I can be one of them,” she threw in with a light laugh.

That somewhat put Sansa at ease as it washed over her, and she found herself smiling back without much effort, “I’m just not used to it, I suppose. I’ve barely even used the dating app, let alone… something like this.”

Bella tossed her curls over her shoulder as she shrugged easily, “I don’t often come to these events myself. But work has been crazy busy lately, and I haven’t really had a moment to be able to try to find a date on the website, so I thought, why not?”

It was as the words came out of her mouth – work being crazy busy – and the lighting glinted off of her hair that the slightly _interested_ feeling that had sparked for the first time since she’d sat at this table abruptly died.

Because Sansa realized with a disturbed startle, that the only reason she was feeling it was because this Bella woman reminded her a bit of Margaery.

With that, she pushed backwards in her chair, shaking her head, “I’m sorry. I’m just – I can’t really do this. You’re very beautiful –” obviously, because she reminded her of the object of her affections, “And you seem nice, but this isn’t really for me. I’m sorry,” she apologized again in a rush, before reaching back to grab her jacket.

Ducking her head, she crossed her arms as she quickly made her way back to the check-in table, and handed her blank piece of paper back to Elia, who took it with surprise, “Leaving so soon?”

Sansa fumbled slightly with her jacket before managing to slip it on, the nervous knots in her stomach finally loosening with the prospect of leaving, “I’m not… this isn’t really for me,” she settled on, “I’m sorry,” she added on, lamely, peering over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to apologize, we’re not holding you captive,” Elia joked, before she placed her paper and pen back on the table, before she gave Sansa a contemplative look, “I hope you don’t take offense to this, but you don’t seem… like your heart isn’t really in this.”

She opened her mouth to automatically refute, before her breath just left her in a sigh, “It’s not. I’m not really – I’m not very good with talking to women.”

Elia was giving her a shrewd look, “While I don’t entirely doubt that, I’m feeling there’s something else there.” She quirked an eyebrow, “Come on. Let me get you a drink.”

Sansa flushed before she shook her head, “I’m not really – I mean. I _do_ find you attractive and the five minutes I spent talking to you went better than the time I spent talking to anyone else. So, maybe in another universe where I’m not a disaster at this –”

Elia cut her off with a laugh, and a hand at the small of her back, leading her to the back of the room where the bar was, her voice low, “Don’t worry, this wasn’t me picking you up. Though in another universe where you weren’t a disaster –” she winked, “– I would be trying. Think of this as a little advice session from an expert.”

Sansa allowed herself to be guided over to the bar as she gave Elia a dubious look, “An expert?”

“I _do_ work for a company that helps create lesbian dating matches. Basically an expert. An expert enough to know that there’s something going on in your pretty head besides nerves,” she said smartly.

Which reminded her, “Wait, aren’t you working?” she glanced around in confusion, “Shouldn’t you be… doing whatever it is you’re supposed to be doing?”

Elia only shrugged as they got to the bar, and she gestured for Sansa to take the seat next to hers, “I was only helping out with check-in tonight because my sister, who also works here, called in sick. Besides, I was just watching everyone on their dates. You know, people getting drinks spilled in their laps and all,” she grinned widely at Sansa, who blushed.

“You were watching me?”

She got an unapologetic smile in return, “I had a feeling you would be a good person to pay attention to, and I was clearly right.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but the bartender came to fix their drinks before she could think too much about it.

He gave them an encouraging smile, before he walked away and left their drinks on the bar. Sansa took a sip of her martini and looked down at the bar, as a few moments of silence settled over them, and the awkwardness she’d felt all evening came back.

At least, until Elia tapped her fingers on the bar and gave Sansa a perceptive look, “So, tell me about her.”

Surprised, and a bit embarrassed – was she _really_ that easily read? – she bit her lip and played dumb, “Um, who?”

Black eyes rolled back at her, “Come on. The _woman_ that you’re hung up on. Look, I’ve been doing this long enough to know. So, tell me about her. Is she an ex?”

Sansa quickly shook her head, “No, she’s… a friend.” Because the evening was already shot, so why not?

“Straight?” Elia swirled her drink a bit in her glass as she questioned, the curiosity in her tone evident.

Blowing out a breath, Sansa shook her head, “No, she’s _definitely_ gay,” she murmured, her mind easily imagining all of Margaery’s flirting looks and light touches and suggestive comments.

Elia gave her a doubtful look, “And this _definitely_ gay woman who you’re friends with, doesn’t want you?”

Sansa frowned, “I don’t… well, I don’t know.” Flushing, she ducked her head and lightly drew her fingertip around the edge of her glass. Her heart pounded in her chest as she recalled the memory for what had to be the thousandth time, “I think she might. I mean – she almost kissed me. We almost kissed,” she rushed to add, because it seemed important for some reason. “But then…”

She trailed off, thinking of the memory. Thinking about how, when Margaery had leaned in to her, she’d felt – felt like she was out of control somehow. Like her body was _wanting_ in a way she’d never felt before, and that alone was enough to alarm her.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” Elia tilted her head slightly, drawing up a dark eyebrow as she guessed in confusion, “And you didn’t want her to?”

Embarrassingly vigorously, Sansa shook her head, “No! I – I did. That was what was so… daunting,” she confessed in a whisper.

It was something she hadn’t even been able to vocalize to Jeyne, really. Jeyne thought she knew everything going on in Sansa’s head, and sometimes it was easier to let her think that than to try to explain all of the thoughts that didn’t even make sense to herself.

But the truth of the matter was that Sansa _had_ wanted to kiss Margaery that night on her couch. They weren’t dating, they weren’t even in the “pre-stages” of dating that Sansa had been in with boys before, and she knew that Margaery wasn’t even interested in relationships at all. All of those factors should have meant that Sansa shouldn’t have been so drawn in; it _should_ have all boiled down the fact that even though she liked Margaery – _despite_ the fact that she liked her, even – she normally wouldn’t be so tempted.

Except. She had been.

Even though she knew everything about Margaery’s experiences with women and the fact that she definitely didn’t want to be anything more than Sansa’s friend in terms of relationship… she’d _wanted_ her, still.

It had been that realization that night, as Margaery’s thumb had stroked over her inner thigh and she’d felt how warm her hand was through her leggings and she’d immediately been ridiculously turned on, that had made her squeak out Margaery’s name.

Which had, in turn, ruined everything, as Margaery had pulled away and shut everything down, and hadn’t brought it up since. She’d easily pretended it hadn’t happened, which confused Sansa more than anything.

Rolling her eyes at herself, she bit her lip and looked up at Elia. Who was staring at her incredulously, “She was going to kiss you and you wanted her to! What was the problem?”

With a sigh, she shrugged. It was strange to talk about this with someone who wasn’t Jeyne, or even Mya. Someone who had been legitimately checking her out, who was interested in women. But, she found that she kind of liked it – an outside perspective – and she debated exactly how to answer, or what exactly she should say, before she settled on, “It’s… complicated. She’s not – she doesn’t want to be in a relationship, and we’re friends. She’s very – experienced. And I’m not. And she was the one who pulled away from the almost-kiss, so.”

She ended with a simultaneous sigh and shrug, because she truly didn’t _know_ where Margaery stood in this. Even as she felt like she knew her pretty well, she also couldn’t read her.

It was confusing and obviously she spent too much time thinking about it – about _her_ – but she couldn’t stop.

Elia was giving her a sympathetic look, “And you really do have it bad for her, don’t you?”

Tracing her thumb over the edge of the napkin, Sansa worried at her bottom lip, “I – it doesn’t matter. _She_ doesn’t have it bad for me.”

“But she was going to kiss you! You just said so yourself,” Elia sounded exasperated.

“Except, she didn’t,” she reminded her, “She’s currently made the choice to be celibate because she’s very… busy, so maybe the almost-kiss was because of that?”

Elia sat back, taking in her words, before she summed up, “So, she used to sleep around but now she’s celibate. And she doesn’t want a relationship, anyway. And _you_ want a relationship, usually, but you want to fuck her even if it doesn’t mean being in love?”

Even as she blushed furiously at her words, she took a surreptitious glance around to make sure they had privacy, which of course they did. She slowly nodded, “I guess so, yes.”

“And you are seeing this as a problem?” Elia asked, her voice raising slightly. Enough that if they had people actually around them, they would have garnered some attention. Sansa refrained from glancing around again, and instead took in the slightly excited look on the tan woman’s face.

“Isn’t it?” she asked, feeling uncertain now, and a little unsettled.

She knew she was right to not trust the look on Elia’s face as she asked, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little thing called friends with benefits?”

Sansa is affronted and she sits back, her mouth hanging open, “I’m – of course. But that’s – I’m not – it’s not me.”

“Who says it’s not? Have you ever had a situation like this before?” she challenged, arching an eyebrow, with damning precision.

Sansa paused for a moment, taking in the words to mull them over for a moment before she slowly answered, “Well, no.”

There had never been anyone before who made her want like that. She’d wanted Harry back when she was a teenager, yes, but there had been no indication that he’d ever cared for her the way she knew Margaery did already. There’d never been someone who she felt like she knew on the whole level.

Elia nodded, “Perfect. You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

Sansa was almost afraid to ask, but the word left her anyway, “What?”

“You just have to tell her! Look. This woman was going to kiss you – maybe she’s celibate and misses sex or maybe she wants you just as badly as you want her,” she smirked at Sansa, and she flushed even as she shook her head; she couldn’t imagine Margaery Tyrell wanting _her_ just as badly. Actually, she knew she didn’t, because, well, there hadn’t been a kiss! Still, Elia continued, “Either way, it needs to be done.”

Wide, astonished blue eyes stared at her, as Sansa managed to splutter out, “I can’t do that!”

Gods, even imagining it… she swallowed thickly and took a shaky breath. She’d probably pass out, honestly.

But Elia only stared at her, incredulously, “You’ve never, in your life, just told someone that you wanted them?”

“No!” she could hardly even manage the thought. Her cheeks were probably on fire, and she minutely shook her head, “That’s – people don’t _do_ that,” she mumbled. People _didn’t_ do that, usually, right? Unless you were Margaery or Jeyne or, she guessed, Elia and – wow, maybe people _did_ do that.

She received an indulgent smile, “You came here tonight. What did you think most of the women were going to want?”

Sansa shrugged both of her shoulders, before she slid her hands into her lap, grasping at each other, “I’m not sure. I thought maybe to find someone to _date_?” she offered with an exasperated huff of breath.

It was called speed _dating_ , after all. Surely she couldn’t be the only person who thought this was about _dating_!

A sly smile slid across the Dornish woman’s face, “I love that you think that. But, regardless… look, Sansa. You’re, by your own words, inexperienced and a disaster at talking to women. Which would all improve with time, but just consider this: would you rather be here tonight, or are you only here to try to not think about your friend?”

Sansa flushed, but remained quiet, because… truly, the answer was evident. She’d known it before she’d even arrived.

Elia sat back with a glint in her eyes, “That’s what I thought. Honestly, the only thing you should apologize for tonight is that you aren’t going after what you really want. Or should I say, _who_ you really want.”

Sansa groaned, frustration coming swiftly, “How am I supposed to do that, then? I can’t just… I can’t just go to her apartment and say, hey, let’s sleep together!”

Elia gave a thoughtful hum, “Well, I wouldn’t say you _can’t_ do that. Trust me, Sansa Stark, you’d be surprised with the results you can get by being direct.” She finished her drink, before leaning forward to tap Sansa lightly on her knee, “Look. She clearly already finds you attractive, but there is something there that is holding her back.  So it’s up to _you_ to go for it. I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. Just my professional opinion,” she informed her, before hopping off of her seat, “Now, I’ve got to call for a break for the women who haven’t got a _friend_ on their minds.”

Sansa sat back, her words echoing over in her mind, as Elia slipped a card onto the bar, “Now, this is me. If you ever want to talk or… anything else, let me know.”

“I – thanks,” she managed to get out, unsure of what exactly she was thanking her for, as she sat back in her seat.

She didn’t stick around, though, and left soon after. For a moment, as she bypassed the entrance to the club, she thought about how much Jeyne would be upset with her for missing out the opportunity to check out the Dragon Pit.

Rather than take the subway, she felt the chill from the early November air on her bare legs, and tucked her hands into her pockets as she decided to walk home. Her mind felt heavy, and she had too much to process before she could truly go home and share her evening with her friends.

The cold comforted her a little – it reminded her of home, and it was easy her head to clear a bit as the wind blew over her.

Still, the uncertainty that was weighing on her was heavy. Because… she wanted to laugh off what Elia had said, but what if she was _right_?

Without questioning herself enough to stop what she was doing, she turned down a different street than she’d set off for.

Because she had never been in a situation like she was in with Margaery before. She wanted her, even if she could only just have her physically. And it wasn’t like it was easy for Sansa to talk to other women, either.

Margaery put her at ease even when she felt like her heart was beating out of her chest. She was kind and attentive, and a good friend, despite the fact that she adamantly told Sansa that she wasn’t truly used to being a friend.

She truly was the most stunning woman Sansa had ever seen, on top of all of that. A stunning woman that had a wealth of experience – Sansa imagined that Margaery was probably exceptionally talented in bed. Dangerously good, even.

Just thinking about it made her heart skip a beat and she felt like she couldn’t breathe for a moment, her mind stolen over with images of Margaery’s smirk and the way she dexterously moved her fingers even in everyday life.

Despite everything else – despite the fact that a relationship wasn’t going to happen, despite Margaery pulling back from the kiss, despite the fact that Sansa had no idea where Margaery stood in terms of how much she wanted her – Sansa _wanted her_. That in and of itself was a novel feeling for her.

And trying to function normally around those women tonight hadn’t worked, because she was both too nervous and awkward, tied around the fact that she didn’t _want_ them, not when her mind was focused on someone else entirely.

Sansa didn’t _enjoy_ not knowing what to say or do around women, and how was that going to change at all, if she couldn’t manage to stop being so afraid of the possibilities of what could potentially happen? How was she going to eventually find herself a girlfriend at all, if she couldn’t get through a conversation without being so skittish? Or thinking of someone that she shouldn’t be thinking of?

She gave a distracted smile to the doorman as her nerves banded together like a lead weight in her stomach, before getting on the elevator and mumbling under her breath. And when she walked out and into the hallway, she clenched her hands together in the pockets of her coat, because they were trembling.

They were still shaking even as she got to Margaery’s door, and she closed her eyes tightly, taking in as deep of a breath as she could and trying to quiet the many thoughts that were running rampant through her mind.

Blowing out her breath through her teeth, she knocked before she could turn around and stop herself.

It was now or never.

This night was supposed to be about _putting herself out there_ , and that’s exactly what Sansa was going to do. If Margaery answered the door before the rational side of her brain could truly catch up with what she’d done and make her turn around and run away, that is.

Gods.

What was she even _doing_? Was she really showing up at Margaery’s doorstep in order to tell her that she was attracted to her? That she –

When the door swung open, all of Sansa’s thoughts cleared from her brain, and she was left staring at Margaery.

Who was wearing one of those light and airy tank tops that she favored changing into when she went home after work, Sansa had learned, and blue eyes tracked lower, taking in the tiny yoga shorts she was wearing, leaving ridiculously toned legs bare.

Her heart started to pound even faster in her chest, as she looked up to meet Margaery’s eyes. Which were alight with amusement and a genuine happiness, Sansa thought, as a small, surprised smile tugged at the older woman’s lips, “Sansa? I thought you were out for the night?”

She wondered why her brain went into hyper focus on things like the way Margaery’s curls were messily piled onto her head in an unfairly attractive bun, and the way those doe eyes shined up at her.

Then she cleared her throat, “I – um – I _was_. Clearly,” she uselessly gestured at herself, her dress and shoes.

And she didn’t even think about the way Margaery’s eyes would follow her gesture, raking down her body and taking in what she was wearing in a gaze so heavy it felt like it could be a caress. She felt herself shudder and her breath caught in her throat, and despite the fact that she was feeling a little lightheaded from the way everything was weighing on her, that was enough to propel her forward.

Because she’d never felt that before. And she wanted more of it.

“Clearly,” Margaery agreed, her voice dropping low and appreciative, before she looked up at Sansa, her eyes dark, as she quirked an eyebrow, “Who in their right mind let you walk out of there?”

The pounding of her heart was all she could hear in her ears as she shivered. Gods, she hoped that Margaery wasn’t just being supportive or something when she said that, and she had to swallow twice before she managed to say, “Well, I wasn’t… quite a catch tonight.”

Damn. She’d wanted to say something smooth or something flirty – something that could hint at what she wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

Margaery stepped back and opened her door, the warmth from her apartment enticing Sansa in, as if she needed more enticement, “That’s not true. But, their loss is my gain.”

Apparently Margaery found the flirty remark Sansa had been looking for, and she flushed, “Yeah, well…” she trailed off, and hoped her hands were still obviously trembling as she reached to take off her jacket.

Dark eyes roved over the top of her dress, then, and she knew that her shiver was obvious. She knew Margaery couldn’t possibly miss it, and still, she merely deftly took Sansa’s jacket and hung it up, before she turned to go into the kitchen, “I was just finishing up some of the paperwork I brought home, so you came at the perfect time.”

Before Margaery could take a step too far, Sansa swallowed hard and reached out to place her hand on her shoulder. Her fingertips skimmed lightly over the soft skin there, and it would be so _easy_ to chicken out.

Instead, she steeled herself and didn’t let her hand fall away from Margaery, “Wait. I – I didn’t do very well tonight, because I…” because I like you wanted to roll off of her tongue, but she bit it back, “Because I’m too – too _nervous_ , because I don’t always know what to do or what to say. And some of the women weren’t that great, either,” she grimaced at the thought of them.

Margaery looked at her inquisitively, before reaching up to take Sansa’s hand with her own. She was so warm, Sansa thought, dimly, as she spoke softly, “Sweetling, take a deep breath, and tell me whatever it is that you’re trying to say.”

She took Margaery’s advice, and took a deep breath, then released it slowly, thinking about Elia’s words. And she closed her eyes, “I think… maybe, I’ll be less nervous about dating women if I have sex with a woman that I trust, first,” was what came out of her mouth.

There. Okay. That should work, right?

Blue eyes peered open, and she expected at least _some sort_ of reaction from Margaery. Hopefully one of desire or interest.

There was a bit of interest, she thought, as Margaery’s gaze dipped to her mouth briefly before coming back up to skim over her features, “Oh? Will you be sleeping with Jeyne?” she teased in a murmur.

“No,” Sansa fluttered her eyelashes, but refused to close her eyes this time and instead stared into Margaery’s. It took her a moment to gather every bit of courage she possibly could as nerves ate away any potential other feeling she might have experienced, “I was thinking, if you were open to it… I could sleep with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated :) And the amount that this story has already received so far has been incredible! Thank you so much for all of your comments and reviews, and in general for reading. 
> 
> Also a big thank you for bearing with me during times like the last week/two weeks, when life is super busy and keeps me from writing!


	10. Actions and Reactions

Margaery had never done any sort of hallucinogenic before. In fact, she’d stayed largely away from drugs of any kind, even in her college years, and it wasn’t even because she truly held any strong feelings on the matter. Rather, she’d had her plans for her future, for her life in the public eye, for so long, there was no way she was willing to even have that one indiscretion dredged up against her.

The closest she’d ever come to any such experience was when she’d been twelve, and she and Loras were racing through their mom’s rose garden outside of her childhood home in Highgarden. She’d tripped – though she maintained that Loras had tripped her, even to this very day – and hit her head on one of the marble benches.

She’d come to quickly, and had been disoriented, like the world was spinning off-axis a little.

This felt a bit like that.

 _I could sleep with you_ , echoed between them, and even though Sansa’s voice had been low, the words rang in Margaery’s ears.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head slightly, curly brown hair that had fallen out of her bun brushing against the back of her neck. It was – she must have misheard. Even though that was something that had _never_ happened to her before, and frankly, if someone else ever suggested that she was _hearing things_ , her reaction would not be pleasant.

Margaery had no clue what Sansa could have possibly said that she misheard or was misunderstanding, but she was quite sure that their wires had gotten crossed somewhere.

Because this was Sansa, who was standing in her apartment in one of the most well-fitted, shortest black dresses Margaery had ever seen. As in, the second she’d looked at Sansa when she’d opened the door, it had taken a fair amount of her considerable self-control to keep her gaze as respectful as she could. And her heels only farther highlighted those deliciously long legs.

This was Sansa, whose red hair only seemed even more vibrant than usual against the paleness of her revealed shoulders and then the stark black of that dress. Whose cheeks were flushing like crazy, as though she’d suggested they should have sex.

But. This was _Sansa_ , who – from their very first interaction ever – had insisted that she so didn’t want any sort of casual sex.

Tilting her head, she looked up at Sansa, who was staring at her with imploring deep blue eyes. Eyes that searched her face even as she felt Sansa’s hand – the one that held onto hers, still – trembled slightly in her grasp

Feeling Sansa’s tremble somehow made the stutter Margaery’s heart had done calm, and her lips quirked into a smile as she shook her head a bit, “I’m sorry, darling. I think I’ve spent far too long working today; I thought you say that you want to have sex with me,” she kept her voice as light as she possibly, even as her mind was still whirling at a hundred miles an hour.

But then Sansa’s blush only intensified and her eyelashes fluttered before she took in a deep breath as her hand flexed in a way that Margaery recognized was the redhead gathering her strength, “I did.” After only a second, she added, “I’m not – I’m not asking you to be my girlfriend, or anything,” it was all in one rushed breath, the color high in her cheeks.

Margaery couldn’t even believe _herself_ – she was at a loss for words, and that was such a rarity for her. And Sansa was staring at her with those big blue eyes, as she bit her lip, and Margaery found herself blinking up at the taller woman.

She typically was so well-prepared for most situations, not to mention that being well-spoken was rather essential to her chosen career path. So, even when she was thrown for a loop in a given circumstance, she prided herself on her quick wit.

She’d already been surprised by the times where Sansa could render her without something to say – because of all of the people in her life, who would have ever have known that it was the girl who wasn’t calculating or manipulative who could stun her? She sincerely wondered when it would happen that Sansa would stop shocking her, because it hadn’t seemed to happen yet.

Just when she thought she had her pegged, Sansa would do something like walk into her apartment, looking like a fucking wet dream, and say that she wanted to have sex with her.

Even though her throat was running a bit dry because of her stomach dipping in an easy arousal, Margaery took in a deep breath through her nose before releasing it slowly through her mouth, and she focused on the kernel of concern she’d had as soon as Sansa had shown up as fidgety as she was.

She stroked her thumb over the soft skin of Sansa’s hand, joking – but not really, as she asked, “Are you drunk?”

Red curls flew over Sansa’s shoulders as she shook her head in offense, “No! I had one drink the whole night. And I didn’t even finish it. I’m sober and serious: do you want to – to have sex? With me,” she added on quickly.

As if Margaery could mistake her intent. As if Margaery wouldn’t want to have sex with her! I f _any_ lesbian wasn’t ready to show Sansa Stark the wonders of sex with women, Margaery wouldn’t believe they were quite sane.

Gods, but she wanted her. Margaery _wanted_ Sansa. She’d wanted her since she’d first messaged her, and even more since she’d seen her in person. She was more than ready to pull Sansa into her apartment and show her exactly what she could do.

And it was because of that very strong urge to not question Sansa any farther and just pull her down the hall and into her bedroom, peel off her dress, and just so what she’d wanted to do _with_ and _to_ Sansa since she’d seen her picture… that made Margaery disentangle their hands. She did not need to feel Sansa’s long and somehow elegant fingers anywhere on her body.

She needed to be no more tempted into this than she already was by simply standing in front of the redhead.

Margaery had never been a _friend_ before – not to someone who wasn’t a family member or Renly in several years – but she was well-versed in her social skills. And her etiquette, despite the damning voice yelling at her to ignore etiquette, was telling her that she shouldn’t take advantage of Sansa like that.

Maybe, if Sansa was a girl at a club or a girl she’d just met online, then there would be no issue in letting her forget whatever was troubling her by fucking it out of her head.

But, Sansa was… Sansa.

Taking a step back, Margaery closed her eyes for only a moment before she crossed her arms slightly in front of herself. And she asked the question she hadn’t exactly wanted to know the answer to, “What _happened_ tonight?”

Because she was sure that whatever had gotten into Sansa that had caused _this_ , stemmed from something the vultures that had gone to that speed dating night had done or said.

As soon as Sansa had mentioned earlier that she was going to a lesbian speed dating night, Margaery had gotten the most unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something that made her steps falter and felt foreboding in and of itself.

It had given her pause for longer than she would have liked, before she decided that it was sheer concern for Sansa. The whole reason Margaery had even started talking to Sansa was to… take her under her wing – so to speak – and protect her from the kind of women that would go to those dating nights, looking for a tall drink of water exactly like Sansa.

Someone with dreamy ideals and an even dreamier body, with a face to match.

Focusing on that, the idea that something – some _one_ – had gotten into Sansa’s had so much tonight helped dim the immediate fire that had shot through her with the images of taking Sansa.

But Sansa just shook her head, her hands coming out in front of her to clasp slightly, as she shrugged, “Nothing, really. I met a few women, and I was a disaster with them. I was too nervous to even think around some of them, and the others were, well, awful.”

She waited for a beat to see if there was more, but nodded in satisfaction. Because she could work with that; she could take that and steer this back into a direction that Sansa likely wouldn’t regret in the morning.

Taking on a comforting tone was surprisingly easy to do, because even if she didn’t experience this same thing, she didn’t want or like to see Sansa like this.

“Sansa, I know that’s… unfortunate,” she didn’t know firsthand, actually, given that she’d never expressed any interest in a such occasion, but she imagined that Sansa probably had higher hopes, “But one bad night of _speed dating_ ,” she couldn’t even keep her incredulous chuckle in, even though she did find it such an oddly charming Sansa thing to have done, “Doesn’t mean that you’re a disaster.”

The way Sansa had been lightly twisting her fingers around one another stopped as Sansa blew out a breath and squared her shoulders. It was actually a very admirable show of the strength that Margaery was _positive_ it was taking Sansa to say all of this.

“I know you think I’m naïve, and – and maybe I can be, sometimes. But that doesn’t mean that I’m some sort of child or that I don’t know anything or that I don’t have wants and desires, too,” she asserted, and her voice was as strong as Margaery had heard it all night so far.

And damn, if it didn’t turn her on. Sansa had _wants_ and _desires_ , and apparently, they included having sex with Margaery. Which wasn’t surprising, because she knew about Sansa’s little… attraction. But she’d never fathomed that Sansa would ever have the idea to suggest this.

She had to stifle a little groan that wanted to escape – a groan at herself for not just doing this, a groan at Sansa for instigating it, and mostly a groan because she _wanted_ so badly – before she assured Sansa, “I don’t think of you as a child.”

At times, a little innocent. In need to be protected of people who would eat her alive – literally and figuratively. People like herself, honestly.

It didn’t appear that Sansa heard her, or perhaps she was just ignoring her, as she soldiered on, “I was thinking that it could be like a deal.”

Sansa’s hands were starting to shake again, she noticed, but her mind was trying to make sense of it all. Because… where did Sansa’s mind even go? What in the world had she concocted? And why couldn’t she let this go, before Margaery broke? Because she only had so much self-control when a beautiful woman was willfully asking to sleep with her.

“A deal?” she echoed, curiosity written all over her tone. She couldn’t help it.

But it seemed that maybe that was the wrong thing to say entirely, and the strong façade Sansa had been wearing disappeared.

She didn’t even get another word out before Sansa side stepped and sunk down onto the edge of one of Margaery’s chairs, long legs seemingly folding almost as she dropped so low in the seat, looking so defeated that it was heartbreaking, “Gods, I am _so_ dumb. That was _so stupid_.”

Margaery was quick to shake her head now, “Sansa, no –”

But she wasn’t hearing her, and she leaned forward to take her head in her hands, “Tonight _was_ awful, okay? It was awful, and I was awful, but I really think – I think that everything I said is true. I thought that experiencing it with _you_ first would be easier. Because, no we’re not in a relationship or anything, but you care about me.”

“I do,” she interjected, running her hand over the flat of her stomach, feeling the softness of her tank top and using it to ground herself.

She wasn’t only at a loss for words, but she was at a loss for actions. She felt like she was in largely unexplored territory, and she wasn’t sure of where to go from here. In fact, she was only sure of one thing, and it was the thing she was pretty sure was a bad idea.

Because she’d been doing her best to help steer Sansa away from women who would only want to sleep with her and not want anything else. And, romantically speaking, that was exactly who Margaery was.

But… Sansa seemed to want that?

The whole night seemed absolutely surreal, and she wasn’t certain which direction it was going to head in.

She hated that it kind of thrilled her in a way.

Sansa tossed her head back, and Margaery very much wanted to run her hands through the thick waves of it as she watched it fly over pale shoulders, before Sansa sighed and drew her attention again, “I just. I’m _really_ attracted to you.”

Blue eyes glittered up at her from where Sansa was sitting, and Margaery’s breath quickened, and a little piece of her resolve broke off.

Margaery had slept with a decent amount of women, but she never had taken advantage of one. She certainly didn’t want Sansa to be the first.

Sansa shrugged, before rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. Thighs that were only slightly covered by that dress, and Margaery’s fingers were _itching_ to slide it up even more. Before Sansa’s next words gripped her, “Because you’re, like, gorgeous. I mean, I’m not sure it should be legal for you to look like you do!”

Her cheeks were only stained in the slightest blush, and Margaery faintly wondered if Sansa was just too deeply entrenched in _everything_ that had happened so far, that her body had simply decided it couldn’t blush anymore on this topic.

On a much more pressing level, Margaery wondered if it really would be _taking advantage_ , because Sansa wanted her. She knew Sansa was attracted to her, and not only that, but she was sitting here in her apartment _asking_ for Margaery to show her the wonders of sex! Without being in a relationship!

If that wasn’t her own agency, she didn’t know what was.

Still, she took a deep breath before interjecting softly, “Sansa –”

“And sleeping with you would probably be, like, really, _really_ good,” Sansa’s voice dipped into a timbre that made Margaery shiver, her spine tingling, heat settling low in her stomach.

Margaery considered herself a relatively good person. She cared about those less fortunate than herself, she had worked fairly effortlessly to make a change in the world, and her goal of being Prime Minister would only farther those efforts. Not that she deluded herself into believe this was all for selfless reasons, but the motivation didn’t change the end result.

That being said.

She was by no means a _saint_. Especially not when it came to having women in her bed and making them come so hard they forgot their names.

Actually, she was very much _not_ a saint in that regard, and the idea of turning Sansa’s active and creative mind to nonsense with her fingers and tongue was enough to make Margaery’s body react without her permission.

Sansa had only just begun to say, “But, if _you_ don’t want _me_ , then…” before Margaery ducked down. Because how did Sansa not realize that was exactly the opposite of the problem?

One of her hands cupped Sansa’s jaw, her thumb stroking the soft skin of her cheek, as she used the other to brace herself on the chair right next to Sansa. Close enough that the inside of her wrist was brushing against the bare warmth of Sansa’s leg.

She felt Sansa’s breath hitch as she moved in close enough that there were only millimeters between them. And there was no hesitation as she pressed forward, her lips brushing against the soft, pink, plump ones that she’d thought about more than once.

A sigh left her at the contact, because _yes_ , they were as soft as they looked. And she reveled in it, as she tilted her head enough to slide her mouth along Sansa’s enough to capture her bottom lip within her own.

And Sansa responded immediately, her mouth opening enough to pull Margaery’s top lip between her own, and sucking on it softly. Those long fingers slid into Margaery’s hair, loosening her bun and Margaery only dimly realized that because of her hair falling out and onto her neck.

It had been months since Margaery had kissed anyone. Even longer than that since she’d well and truly _desired_ the woman she’d had like this. Not that she’d had sex with a woman that she wasn’t attracted to on some level, really. But, there had been nothing like this.

Nothing like Sansa’s hands flexing in her hair. Nothing like having the taste and feel of someone’s lips that she’d thought about for months. Nothing even quite like the electric feeling she had from the way Sansa’s thigh brushed against her as she crossed her legs, and then uncrossed them.

Gods, but Margaery had never desired a woman for so long without being able to have her, and the idea of _having_ Sansa was making her lightheaded.

But as good as it felt, she couldn’t… couldn’t lose herself in it. Even if it would be _so_ easy to do it.

With a gentle nip at the bottom lip she had captured, she felt Sansa’s whimper more than heard it, and it was more than enough to send the spikes of pleasure even lower, and she closed her eyes tightly as she pulled away.

Only far enough, though, so that she could see the brightness in those blue eyes so close to her own, and feel the erratic exhales of Sansa’s breath hitting her cheek. She tried to search Sansa’s gaze for what she was expecting to see – fear or regret or embarrassment or _something_.

But all she got back was a heavily lidded gaze, eyelashes so long they cast light shadows over her cheeks, as Sansa leaned in a little bit to follow her, before she seemed to catch herself. It made a smile ghost at Margaery’s lips.

“Sansa…” she had to break off, swallowing hard, “You’re _sure_ that you want this?”

She leaned another inch back, tilting her head to look at Sansa more clearly. She took in her flushed cheeks, and dark eyes wandered to look at Sansa’s mouth as she slowly licked her lips, and… fuck. Margaery looked back to her eyes, which seemed less dazed than a moment ago.

And Sansa slowly nodded, twice, before she cleared her throat, “I’m nervous. But I think I will be with my – my first woman, no matter what,” she confessed in a low voice, and Margaery felt Sansa slowly slide her hands down, fingers disentangling themselves from her hair, before her hands fell back into her lap.  

There it was. Margaery had never had _any_ qualms about being someone’s first woman. She didn’t care if she was a woman’s first woman or her only woman or, really, what happened in the other woman’s personal life after their encounter.

But this wasn’t just any woman, it was Sansa.

Bowing her head slightly, she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to keep her mind as clear as she could, despite the electricity charging between them. Despite that she could still feel that slight tingling on her mouth from contact with Sansa’s.

Only to open them again when she remembered what Sansa had said before, that she’d never got clarification on, “What did you mean when you said a deal?”

Those big blue eyes blinked up at her in momentary confusion as her hands twisted together, eyebrows furrowing in a look that was absurdly cute. Before her expression smoothed back out, and Sansa sighed softly, looking unsure as she explained, “I meant, well – I _thought_ , that maybe we’d be getting different things out of it. You could, um, be my first woman experience, and… show me what it’s like,” she broke off, her blush catching up with her now, as she shook her head at herself.

“And, well, you said that you… liked to have sex whenever you’d been stressed out about things like work in the past. But because of the election and everything, you took down your profile, so you haven’t been having sex. Even though you’ve been ridiculously stressed,” she rambled on, her hands flexing against her knees, and she focused her gaze just beyond Margaery’s head as she spoke.

Before she slid her eyes to fix on Margaery’s, and her heart pounded in her chest at the heat in it, before Sansa took in another one of those strength gathering breaths, “So, you know everything. And you kissed me.”

“I did,” she murmured, and the fact of the matter was that she truthfully had no resolve left.

Sansa was an adult, she had her own reasons for wanting this. For coming to Margaery’s apartment and wanting to have sex. Who was Margaery to turn her down, when she so clearly was _in_ this?

She breathed in deeply through her nose, holding it in as she turned her head slightly. Just enough to try to feel any bit of fresh air. So that she wasn’t surrounded by Sansa’s perfume and she could try to gather herself.

But what else was there to gather? She was ridiculously stressed out, she’d spent the whole date without a moment to breathe, she had an interview coming up, plus she’d had this whole worry about Sansa on her mind for the last few hours.

Taking Sansa and being able to forget real life – because _Sansa_ had been the one to suggest it! – seemed like the best possible scenario, honestly.

The only thing was that… she couldn’t help but feel like she was somehow taking advantage in a way. She truly didn’t want to be one of those women she’d warned Sansa about. There was a loose plan forming in her mind, about how she could do this, without it being… blurry.

Perhaps she could make it a night for _Sansa_. For Sansa to experience being with a woman, as she’d said. If _she_ was the only one doing the touching, then it wasn’t anything like she was using her. If anything, it would purely be _Sansa_ using _Margaery_ for sex, and – gods – Margaery was _so_ okay with that.

Because saying she’d be getting nothing by getting the pleasure of making Sansa Stark come would be such an understatement.

She took a deep breath, and wondered if her plan was as solid as she thought it was or if she was only thinking that through the haze of lust in her mind, only for it to come rushing out of her on a light whimper when she felt Sansa lean in and press a light, tentative kiss under her ear. And then another under that. _Fuck_.

Turning her head, she captured Sansa’s lips with hers, more forcefully this time than before. Especially because now, her mind was already set.

If Sansa wanted Margaery to _show her what it was like_ , then Margaery was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

This time, she didn’t suckle softly at her lips. Instead, her tongue slid over, before licking into Sansa’s mouth, and Margaery surged forward from where she was still crouched in front of Sansa.

And she swallowed Sansa’s gasp, before she felt her eagerly respond, tongue stroking against Margaery’s, as one of her hands came up and landed on her shoulder, before her fingers dug in slightly.

She slid her own hand from where it rested on the cushion to glide her fingertips over Sansa’s bare thigh, relishing in the smoothness. As she nipped her teeth lightly at Sansa’s tongue, she scratched up her hand, to just under the hem of that dress.

And she could feel Sansa’s shiver, just as she heard her moan softly in the back of her throat. Margaery couldn’t control the smirk on her lips as she pulled back – simultaneously scratching her nails back down Sansa’s leg – because this was going to be _so fun_.

Rapidly darkening dark eyes took in the way Sansa’s eyes didn’t flutter back open, and her mouth remained parted.

She couldn’t resist leaning in to place another kiss against the corner of her mouth, before she reached for the hand Sansa had on her shoulder, easily entangling their fingers as she stood up, “Come on, darling.”

Now Sansa’s eyes fluttered open, dazed a bit still, before she followed Margaery’s lead. She frowned, and had to clear her throat twice before she fixed a wondering look, “Where –”

“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” she murmured, because she was getting this one night, and she was not going to miss the opportunity to see the way that red hair contrasted with the stark white of her pillows. She wanted to see the way Sansa’s long, lean body spread over her bed.

She wanted Sansa to clutch onto her sheets as Margaery made her come undone.

She was going to fuck Sansa the way she’d wanted to since the first time she’d seen her message on that website, and anticipation rushed through her, pulsing into her core as she led the way down the hallway toward her bedroom.

With a glance over her shoulder, she saw the way Sansa was taking in everything in her bedroom for the first time. Despite the fact that Sansa had been to her apartment several times now, the tour had never extended into her bedroom.

And she felt Sansa’s hand shake slightly in her own, as she took in a trembling breath and offered in a whisper, “I like your picture.”

Margaery quirked an eyebrow at that, unable to stop herself from grinning and shaking her head, because… of course, she would be taking Sansa into her bedroom for sex, and Sansa _would_ immediately see the family picture she had on her bureau.

“Thank you,” she offered back, and she _knew_ Sansa was ridiculously nervous. It had taken her so much courage to get this far, Margaery knew. Like, she never would have imagined this would be something Sansa would even _want_ , let alone actually say she wanted.

Sansa had come to her – at least in part – because she _knew_ what to do; she didn’t want Sansa to feel like she was, in her own words, an awkward disaster even when she was here with her. So she stroked the back of Sansa’s hand and offered her a comforting smile. As comforting as she could manage with how much she wanted to peel off Sansa’s dress and kiss down her body, anyway.

It might have been a bit predatory.

Still, the trembling she felt in Sansa’s hand lessened just a bit, as she stepped in, “We’re friends,” she whispered, and she saw the way Sansa shuddered as her breath hit her collarbones. She very narrowly resisted biting them. For now.

Sansa nodded, and she could see her swallow before she said back, “Friends,” in a low tone.

“And this isn’t going to change anything,” she asserted, this time not just for Sansa, but for her own peace of mind as well. She arched an eyebrow up at Sansa, stomach dipping low from want, even as she waited for a response.

Which came quickly, Sansa squeezing her hand lightly, “I don’t want it to.”

Relieved, Margaery took that as the only confirmation she needed, and she dipped her head enough to trail her lips up Sansa’s neck. It was a light touch; just enough for her to feel the soft skin of her throat, but enough for her to feel the way Sansa’s pulse jumped.

She was almost ridiculously pleased that Sansa’s body was so sensitive to her touch, but then, she didn’t know why she was surprised. Sansa reacted to even a light touch, let alone when she was trailing kisses up and down the column of her neck.

Still. She moved to her tip toes, whispering, “Take off your shoes,” before she pulled back. And took in the way Sansa was staring at her with wide eyes for a moment before complying with an indecent amount of satisfaction.

As soon as Sansa’s heels hit the floor with a thud, bringing the redhead to a more manageable height – because as ridiculously sexy as they were, Sansa was already tall enough to move Margaery onto her tip toes – she reached out to tug Sansa forward as she stepped in. She pushed up on her tip toes once more, pulling her into a searing kiss.

Sansa whimpered as Margaery flicked her tongue up to stroke the top of her mouth, and she slid her hands down her sides. The dress was so tight that she could feel the curves of Sansa’s body, and the fans of heat flamed even hotter inside of her.

And there was a voice in the back of her mind that wondered exactly how Sansa was going to react, but she didn’t stop as she traced her hands even lower, cupping her toned ass. She knew that Sansa liked to run – she knew that she’d done track in high school and throughout undergrad – so it was no surprise at all that she was all so defined under all of her soft skin.

But surprise or no, she loved it. She pulled Sansa even closer to her, the fronts of their bodies melding together easily, and a groan worked its way out of the back of her throat, because she’d _missed_ this. Having a woman in her arms, trying to shift even closer, like she couldn’t be close enough. Missed the jagged thrill of anticipation slash through her, and know she was making the woman she was with feel that, too.

And the fact that it was Sansa… just made it remarkably better.

She slid one of her hands up, sucking on Sansa tongue as she did, finding the zipper on the top of her dress. The urge to undo it without a second thought had her flipping the zipper up and tugging it only slightly between her fingertips.

Easing back, she asked, “Can I –?”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually asked that – typically, both parties knew that was where this would be leading to, and she wouldn’t hesitate.

Sansa squeezed her eyes closed and released a low breath as she nodded, “Yes. Yeah. I’m just –” breaking off, she fidgeted her hands at her sides, and admitted, “I – I’ve only ever even been with two men. And neither of them, um. It was never…” she trailed off, and even in the dimmed lighting of her room, she could see the color in her cheeks.

Leaning in, she pressed her lips to one of them, feeling how warm it was under her lips, as she whispered, “Okay, what I need you to do for me, is relax. Because this is about _you_. So, just let me,” she tugged slightly on the zipper, enough that it gave and started to slide down, “Make you feel good.”

She felt the shuddering breath Sansa released brush her shoulder, and she continued pulling down the zipper, until the dress loosened and fell at her feet. Sansa stood in front of her, with only a tiny sheer lace thong on.

Brown eyes darkened, taking in the sight in front of her with greedy eyes. Seven hells, she’d known Sansa had an amazing body, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. And as she took in all of that creamy skin, and the way her hair had fallen just over her shoulders so that the tips of red were brushing over already hard nipples, she licked her lips.

She was going to devour this girl.

Margaery shifted on her feet slightly, pressing her thighs together because she could already feel how wet she was just by some light touching and looking. But she gathered herself within a few seconds, because she could see in the way Sansa fidgeted that she was close to covering herself up.

Reaching out, she quickly caught Sansa’s hands in her own, keeping them at her sides, “Don’t,” her voice was low but firm.

She felt a quake run through Sansa, as she dipped her head to make eye contact with her as she ran her hands up her sides, gliding her fingers over such soft skin, before stroking back down. She purposefully wasn’t touching Sansa’s breasts – even though she _really_ wanted to – or even her ass again – even though, she also wanted to.

And she normally would have been, but, seven hells, Margaery was trying to be a… good girl right now. Despite her spotless professional record, though, she’d never not played a little dirty when it came to her personal affairs.

That thought kind of disappeared when Sansa ducked down and attached their mouths again, wrapping her own arms around Margaery’s waist. She met the kiss with fervor, and without conscious thought, her hands started to roam again.

They mapped Sansa’s back, slowly sliding up her spine, and delighting in the shivers that she felt that made Sansa arch her back toward her, pressing them entirely together. She could feel the hard press of Sansa’s nipples against her chest, and she groaned in appreciation.

She slid her mouth to suckle on Sansa’s bottom lip, pulling it within her own, trapping it as she laved attention with her tongue, before she scratched her hands down Sansa’s back, and over her ass again, feeling the flimsy lace under her fingers, before she turned them easily and walked so that Sansa’s knees hit the bed.

A breathless chuckle left her at Sansa’s squeak when she was falling backwards, only to be cut off when her breath hitched in her throat. Sansa fucking Stark in her bed, with red hair spread wildly over her sheets and her legs spread enough to allow Margaery to kneel between them… was the view of a lifetime.

Blue eyes that had darkened into a midnight sky rather than an ocean blinked up at her, and Margaery pounced. Bracing her hands on either side of Sansa’s hips, she bent down to press her lips right above the waist of her underwear. The touch was light, and made Sansa’s hips jerk up at her.

Closing her eyes to ward off her own arousal – as if she could – Margaery planted open kisses up Sansa’s stomach, feeling the muscles under her soft skin tremble in each place her mouth touched. Gods, she had no idea how in the world _any_ woman at that crazy speed dating event would have left without trying to take Sansa home.

But she’d meant it when she’d said that their loss was her gain; she just hadn’t known at the time how much of a gain it was.

She pressed her lips to the curve of Sansa’s breast, as she slid her hand up to cup the other one, feeling the full weight in her hand. When she licked her tongue in a circle around her dusky pink nipple, she felt Sansa’s hands slide into her hair once more, making her close her eyes as those long fingers twisted into her locks. And then when Sansa tugged her down slightly, urging her to move faster, Margaery groaned as she complied, sucking on her as she ran her fingertips over the tip of her other breast, before pinching it.

Sansa’s moans above her were like music to her ears as she laved attention on her chest, and when Sansa’s hips started thrusting up against hers, Margaery grinded back down against her, moaning herself at the pressure.

She gave Sansa’s nipple another broad lick, feeling her shiver, before she ducked to place kisses along the lightly freckled skin of her chest. And it took her a moment before she registered that Sansa’s hands weren’t pulling her closer, but were instead pushing.

Confused, and feeling more than a little hazy from her own desire, she pulled back, searching Sansa’s face, “What? What is it?”

In the small corner of her mind that was still thinking logically, she thought that this would be the moment that it was done. Sansa had decided they’d gone far enough, and this was it.

She thought she’d see some sort of fear or uncertainty in her eyes, but was instead met with a look so heated it stole her breath, as Sansa groaned – this time in frustration – as she tugged at the strap of Margaery’s tank top, “I, um, I want this off,” her voice was somehow both assertive and questioning, and Margaery found herself _too_ relieved that she wanted to keep going.

“Is that all?” she teased, before she pushed herself up to bring her hands to the bottom of her tank top and quickly pulled it over her head.

Her bra was still on, though, and she hesitated for a moment because she desperately wanted to feel all of Sansa’s body on her own. But she shook her head slightly at herself; this was not about _her_. She was not going to make this in any way about her coming in thanks to Sansa, and her long fingers that Margaery were sure could – no. Just, no.

No matter how much she wanted to.

She felt a shiver down her spine at the way Sansa pushed herself up onto her elbows to get a better look at her. And there was a lustful look in her eyes, but also one akin to wonder that was so utterly flattering in a way that was uniquely _Sansa_.

She found it strangely charming, especially in a moment like this where she didn’t know how often she’d been “charmed” by someone in this state.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Sansa breathed out, before flushing – and the fact that she was doing that even as she was in Margaery’s bed was truly like a bonus – as though she couldn’t believe she’d let those words fall out.

Shooting her a wink, she reached back to pull her hair tie out completely, and brown curls spilled down around her shoulders. “Thank you, sweetling,” she whispered back, as she slid her hands to rest on either side of Sansa’s head, and leaned down, their stomachs pressing together in a smooth slide, especially as she felt Sansa’s shake slightly as she inhaled.

She moved so that she was kneeling on either side of Sansa’s thigh, before she pressed her leg slowly up between Sansa’s. The wet lace brushed against her, and heat pooled in her center as Sansa gasped.

Grinding her leg slowly against her, she bent down so that she could press a series of kisses down Sansa’s jaw, before she reached her lips. And she leaned in enough to brush their mouths together, breathing the same heavy air, as Sansa’s hips started working in a slow matching rhythm with her, murmuring, “You’re very beautiful, Sansa.”

She dipped down enough so that she could place a deep but brief kiss, getting Sansa’s taste on her lips again, before she drew back enough to look at her face. Wide blue eyes stared up at her, as her mouth remained open on gasping breaths, and gods, Margaery could not have fathomed this would be how her night would have ended up.

Bringing her hand down, she guided it up Sansa’s abdomen, before settling on her breast, kneading there for a moment, and reveling in the way Sansa arched her back toward her.

She shuddered when Sansa’s hips jerked up against her pelvic bone and ground down as her hands moved to tentatively stroke down her back. Fuck, Margaery wanted Sansa’s touch _too_ much. It would be so, so simple to lose herself in it – in this easy chemistry that was only building by the second – and forget herself.

Forget that this wasn’t a hookup or a night of fun or just a night of wild sex. This was a night to make Sansa come so hard she didn’t have to think about trying to be with other women or about whatever shitty experiences she’d had with men.

So, she handled it by reaching back to take Sansa’s hands and even though she very much missed them on her, she pulled them away, and instead brought them above Sansa’s head, pressing them into the pillows. She pulled back to look at the confused look in Sansa’s eyes, before she demanded, “Keep them there. And lift your hips for me.”

She brought her hands back down, sliding her leg back even as a whimper left Sansa at the loss of contact. Margaery tucked her fingers in the waist of her underwear and tugged them down. Seven hells, Sansa was soaked, and Margaery couldn’t even be surprised; she was still wearing her shorts and underwear, and she was just as wet.

She had short, trimmed red curls and those long legs tried to close as Margaery licked her lips and took her time looking at her. Rather than tell her not to, Margaery scratched her nails lightly over Sansa’s inner-thigh, remembering the way she’d jerked and shuddered earlier from it. She felt victorious when this had an even better reaction, a whimper tearing from the back of Sansa’s throat as her legs jerked even farther open.

This time, though, she didn’t have the dress to stop her from moving up, brushing her fingers over Sansa’s slit. A groan worked its way up and out of her throat as Sansa’s wetness coated her fingers easily, and she slid up to circle her clit, making Sansa buck up at her, before she moved back down and slid two fingers into her.

Curling them, she ducked back down and started to move slowly, deeply, loving the way Sansa’s walls pulled at her as uneven breaths broke over Sansa's lips. 

“You’re so wet for me, darling,” she breathed out, unable to stop herself, because _fuck_ , she loved it. She loved the way Sansa’s body reacted to her, the way she squeezed tightly around her fingers, the way her hands clutched tightly at Margaery’s bed.

She _especially_ loved the moans that were making their way out of Sansa’s throat, and Margaery pressed open-mouthed kisses there, lightly suckling on her skin. Not enough to bruise, but enough that she was sure Sansa could really feel her. Gods, even her smooth, warm neck tasted good under her lips, and she sighed against her, pumping her fingers in and curling up every so often. Every time, Sansa's hips thrusted hard up at her, and this delicious groaning whine sounded in the back of her throat, and Margaery couldn't get enough. 

As soon as she brushed her thumb over Sansa’s clit, she knew that it wasn’t going to be long for her first orgasm to hit. She could feel her walls clamping tighter around her, and so she rubbed her thumb faster in circles, moving her mouth up to right behind Sansa’s ear.

She licked there, before she heard Sansa cry out, and she whispered, “Come for me, darling. I want to feel you.”

And as if her words were the magic touch, Sansa was clamping down around Margaery’s fingers tightly, a cry that she muffled by biting her lip leaving her that left Margaery shaken to the core with desire. She’d honestly had no idea _how_ unfathomably turned on she would get just from this.

From the sounds of Sansa under her and around her, feeling her wetness and hearing the gasps for breath she was making as she quaked from light aftershocks. It wasn’t the most powerful orgasm, Margaery knew. No, that was the orgasm she’d had because she hadn’t had sex in a long while, and even before, she’d said it hadn’t been very good. 

Still, she pulled back enough to look down at Sansa, taking in her disheveled hair and completely debauched look under her greedily. And the small spark of mischief inside of her was only fanned when Sansa opened wide, dazed blue eyes, as she bit her lip, “I – um, I. You’re still in me,” her whisper was a little hoarse, and the sound of it shot straight into Margaery's core. 

She sounded so mystified, and Margaery both wanted to laugh and to fuck Sansa within an inch of her life.

A chuckle was what left her as she flexed her fingers that were, indeed, still inside of the taller woman. The blue eyes that had been watching her clouded over as her head fell back into the pillow, and Margaery moved so that her face was right above Sansa’s, so she could nuzzle her nose into Sansa's cheek, pressing a kiss against her skin, as she answered, “I am, yes. That’s the beauty of what it’s like to be with a woman.”

She slid her fingers out before pushing a third one in, and reveling in the way Sansa stared up at her as she started to thrust. This time, she moved faster than before, loving how wet she was and the sound it made as she pumped her fingers, moaning under her breath at how damn _good_ Sansa felt.

And she couldn’t help herself. When Sansa flexed her leg as Margaery’s fingers curled and hit the right spot inside of her, she pressed down and grinded against her thigh. Even the friction through her shorts felt amazing, because gods, she wanted almost nothing more than to work herself into orgasm at the same time that she worked Sansa into another one. 

Her breath was coming shorter as her arousal spiked, and she debated whether or not she should go down on Sansa this time or save it for the next time – because she _would_ have a taste of her before this opportunity was gone. Sansa even smelled so good, and she had no doubt that she would taste amazing. Gods, she wanted to have those thighs wrapped around her head as she made Sansa come into her mouth.

The decision that she was going to have to wait for that, was made without her, when she felt one of Sansa’s long legs wrap around her waist. Because there was no way she was going to remove that long, toned leg from where it wrapped around her and held her close, not when that was also something she'd imagined several times. Her fingers worked into Sansa even deeper, into all of that heat, as she was pulled almost impossibly closer. 

She was almost as shocked by Sansa’s boldness as she was even more turned on by it.

And then her mouth fell open in painfully undisguised arousal when Sansa whimpered out, “H-harder," as she dug her head back into Margaery's pillow, sucking on her bottom lip, as if that made any of the sounds she couldn't stop any quieter. 

“Shit,” she murmured, because was Sansa trying to kill her? Pressing her hips down against her thigh, she used her other leg to back up her hand as she worked it into Sansa even harder. She pounded into her now, sliding Sansa up just a bit in her sheets, and she thought she might have gone too hard for a moment.

Before Sansa responded, with her back arching up toward Margaery, cries in the back of her throat mingling with Margaery’s name echoing off of her bedroom walls. She nipped her teeth into Sansa’s neck, moaning herself, and this time she might have left a mark; she wasn't entirely sure. She made her way down, sucking and licking and pressing kisses, far enough so that she could wrap her lips around her nipple.

Sansa swore loudly, just as Margaery could feel the leg that was wrapped around her waist start to shake, and she knew Sansa was about to come again, even harder than before, even before her walls clamped down and started to pulse around her.

Margaery slowed just a bit, gentling her thrusts as Sansa's peak hit, even as all she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears, working Sansa through her orgasm. The sounds Sansa started making lowered to whimpers, and brown eyes closed tightly, wrapped up in the sounds and the feeling and the smell of Sansa all around her.

It would be so easy, she thought as she slowed the grinding of her hips. As soon as Sansa would give her a few well-directed strokes, Margaery would easily come for her. It had been months since she’d had an orgasm given by anyone else, and even aside from that – she was so damn wet right now, so turned on from touching Sansa and making her shake and moan and come, she would orgasm within a few minutes.

She stroked her thumb lightly over Sansa’s clit, and felt her entire body twitch as she slowly pulled out her fingers. They glistened with Sansa's wetness, and she didn't think twice before she brought them to her mouth. The taste of Sansa on her fingers only made her hunger for a taste of her even more, as well as make Margaery feel the need to come even more, her center tightening on nothing, soaking her underwear.

It was truly a herculean effort for her to stop herself from continuing to grind down into her, and to swing her leg back over Sansa’s, so that she removed the temptation from herself. Which, actually, wasn’t even entirely true, because Margaery was seriously tempted to touch her damn self. Right there and then, with a freshly fucked Sansa right next to her.

All right, so that might have been a part of the appeal.

Biting her lip to muffle a groan, Margaery looked at Sansa. Who was still breathing heavily, with one arm strewn over her head and the other resting over where she’d been clutching at the sheets. Her chest was heaving, breasts moving with each inhale, and Margaery licked her lips.

She found herself asking, “Are you okay?”

Which, she had no idea when the last time was that she’d asked that to any woman she slept with. Then again, she’d never been _friends_ with anyone she’d slept with, either, so perhaps she’d been a bit callous in her regard for their emotional well-being.

Sansa hummed in the back of her throat, and Margaery’s lips quirked into a smirk. She couldn’t help but feel self-satisfied, the feeling rolling through her warm and thick. Which seemed crazy, even as she was feeling ridiculously, physically _unsatisfied_ at the same time.

Releasing a slow breath between her teeth – because she was _so_ tempted to do something like guide Sansa’s hand that was resting on the bed between them – she scooted a bit farther, toward the edge of the bed.

Self-control was something she prided herself on. And if she wanted to touch Sansa even more tonight, which she did, she was going to need every ounce of it that she had.

She’d never held back like this during sex before, and she wondered if – she frowned, turning her head a bit toward her bedroom door. Eyebrows coming together in confusion, she sat up a bit, hair tumbling over her shoulder before – yes, that was definitely the sound of her front door opening.

Frowning, she flicked her gaze back to Sansa, who hadn’t seemed to hear anything just yet. Which, was probably good. She lowered her voice into a whisper, reaching out to stroke back a lock of soft red hair from Sansa’s warm cheek, smoothing it onto the pillow, “I’ll be right back.”

She could already hear the muffled voices slightly through her door as she climbed out of her bed and tugged on the robe she had hanging on the closet. Resolutely, she didn’t look back at Sansa, because… Sansa Stark was spread out naked on her bed, and she was _leaving_ her room.

On top of – or maybe because of – the fact that she was ridiculously turned on, Margaery was very easily frustrated as she stepped out of her room and swiftly closed the door before she crossed her arms and walked swiftly down the hall.

To see Renly and Loras peeking in her kitchen, just starting to pull of their jackets. Her friend spotted her first, and he greeted with her a warm smile, “Hey! We figured we’d stop by on our way back from the theater, especially since you were all grumpy about Sansa being busy.”

“I _wasn’t_ grumpy,” she steeled herself against that; she’d been _concerned_ , “And you two need to leave.”

Before they realized what exactly was going on, and definitely before Sansa did.

Renly took a step closer, looking her up and down before he frowned, “We thought we’d be saving you from slaving over your paperwork all night. But apparently you’ve already finished?”

Loras chuckled, reaching out to tug at the collar of her robe, “What, did you finish your paperwork and then go straight to bed? It’s barely midnight. What are you, eighty? Speaking of eighty year olds, grandmother released another statement today about your campaign.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt as she pushed her elbow into his stomach, just hard enough to make him _oof_ , and step back, “Of _course_ I saw it, Loras,” as if Margaery didn’t get an alert whenever anything happened in terms of her own campaign.

It had been a sly, snide dig at Cersei’s campaign, which Margaery had appreciated. And normally, she would love to talk politics with her brother and Renly – in fact, it was something she did nearly every day, and never got bored.

But it was _not_ something she was going to do when she had Sansa, naked, in her bed, and she’d yet to get a taste of her. In fact, the _only_ good thing about this impromptu visit, that she could see, was that she was rapidly losing that sharp edge of arousal that had settled inside of her.

“I’m being serious, you two need to go. And you don’t have keys to let yourselves in _when I’m home_ ,” she informed them, her voice sharper than she normally took with them, but she figured it would help to clue them into the fact that she was not going to give in on that.

They definitely took notice, and for a moment, Loras looked confused. Before his face lit up into a mischievous grin, “Wait a second. It’s too early for you to be in bed… unless, you’re in bed with someone else.”

Renly looked between them before a knowing smile quirked at his mouth, too, “Ah, it all makes sense. This _is_ the most stressful time of your life so far, really, with the campaign, and your usually stress relief management has been off the table – so to speak – for a while. Sansa has been your distraction –”

“And tonight she was busy, so…” Loras finished for him and trailed off, throwing her a lascivious wink, “Well, you could have just told us, Marg.”

Seven hells. She tugged the robe tighter around her body, narrowing her eyes at him. This was dangerously approaching what Margaery would think of as the damage control stage, and she very much wanted to keep it in the preventative measures stage.

So she sighed and nodded – because it wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her sexual history, which both Loras and Renly knew all about, or at all ashamed of Sansa. Perhaps she was a bit wary of the men in her life finding out that she’d slept with Sansa, especially because of Loras’s dogged insistence that she couldn’t manage to keep her as only a friend, but still.

She didn’t need these boundaries to cross, not when this was a one time thing, and certainly not when she was positive that Sansa wouldn’t want them to know.

“Yes, fine, I do have someone here. You’re right; I have been stressed and I needed a… release,” okay, so she _still_ needed a release, but that was neither here nor there. Besides, there were still to be more _releases_ had in her bed tonight. “So, goodbye and goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, Renly.”

Despite their teasing grins, she knew that she had them both ready to leave, and she let out a sigh of relief as she brought her hand up to run through her hair.

Until she heard her bedroom door open behind her, and she closed her eyes tightly. This was definitely damage control time, and she straightened her spine as she opened her eyes again. Just in time to see Loras’s kid-on-Christmas-morning smile – damn him – and the wide-eyed surprise on Renly’s face.

Which might have entertained her at any other time, in a different situation. Unlike Loras, he’d been certain that Sansa and Margaery wouldn’t have sex, all based on his prior knowledge about Sansa. And up until, well, tonight, Margaery had agreed with them.

She turned to face Sansa as well. Who had put on her dress again – the tiniest bit off-center – and her heels had been thrown back on, though the straps weren’t as neatly done up as they’d been when she’d arrived. All of that gorgeous red hair was so clearly mussed and Sansa had thrown it into a quick ponytail.

And gods, seeing her made it very easy for Margaery to want to make her turn around and go back into her room – into her bed – and make her come all over again. Which had been the plan, but now, frankly, she had no clue what to expect.

That seemed to be the recurring theme of the evening – and it was generally one of Margaery’s least favorite things.

Sansa stared back at the three of them, first freezing upon seeing Renly and Loras, before blushing the deepest red Margaery had ever seen, “I – I, um,” the words seemed to stick in her throat, before she managed to stutter out, “I was just leaving.”

Confused – baffled, more like it, because only minutes ago, Sansa had been utterly content and naked in her bed – Margaery shook her head, and she was careful to keep her voice low and controlled; she didn’t want Sansa to read the annoyance in her tone that she had for the men in her life and think it was directed at her, “No, they’re going.”

But Sansa either didn’t hear her or ignored her and she walked right by the group of them, averting her eyes to the floor, and headed right for the door. Margaery shot both Loras and Renly a warning look, because if they said or did anything else that made Sansa panic, she swore there would be hell to pay, before she quickly followed behind her, “Sansa, wait –”

The look on Sansa’s face wasn’t one she could place exactly, but she knew in the way that Sansa wouldn’t meet her gaze and the way stormy blue eyes watered slightly that there was _a lot_ going on. She was somewhat gifted at reading emotions, especially on Sansa’s face because she was so unguarded. But all she could see what a distress that she _knew_ hadn’t been there earlier.

And the concern she felt bubble up inside of her superseded everything else, as she asked quietly, “What happened?”

 _Something_ had to have happened between when she'd taken her last look at Sansa in her bed and now, right? Or maybe it was everything, all catching up to her. Damn it, Margaery hated not knowing.

But Sansa looked at her, up and down her body, before her blush only intensified and she shook her head quickly as if trying to shake away a bad thought, “I’m – I have to go, Margaery. I’m _sorry_.”

Only, she didn’t sound like she was apologizing strictly for leaving, and the feeling in Margaery’s stomach intensified into one of foreboding. Damn it, she’d known she shouldn’t have done this. She’d _known_ it, and still she’d done it, anyway.

Sansa reached for the doorknob jerked the door open, as she mumbled, “I just… need to go home.”

Frowning, Margaery turned to peer at the clock – seven hells, she truly had lost all track of time – already speaking in her most calming voice before she turned back around, “Just stay here until you’re less upset. It’s late.”

Because maybe if she could get Sansa to _stop_ and calm down, the anxiety she was sure Sansa was feeling would go away enough that they could handle it.

But Sansa already pulled the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your feedback, thoughts, and opinions are very much welcome! I can't believe the response to the last chapter, it was incredible. Thank you so much for reading everything so far on Sansa/Margaery's journey :)


	11. Running Circles On My Mind

Saturdays were typically a very productive day for Sansa. She’d always been an early riser by nature, so she usually made a nice breakfast. Went for a run, if the weather was nice. Got through all of her homework, including assignments that she needed to grade for Professor Lannister. Did all of the shopping that needed to be done for the apartment, and the cleaning. Hung out with Jeyne, sometimes Mya, or Arya, when her sister was here.

Today… today, Sansa didn’t think she was going to leave her bed at all.

How _could_ she? Honestly, she probably shouldn’t even ever show her face in public, not after last night.

With a groan, Sansa wiggled slightly deeper into the swaddle of blankets she’d wrapped around her through the night to try to comfort herself. She’d hardly slept a wink – two hours total, if that – and had spent the remainder of her time doing exactly what she was doing right now.

Staring up at her ceiling and wondering what in the seven hells was wrong with her?

Even just thinking about the night before made her want to crawl into a hole and die, because how could she have done that? How could she have gone to Margaery’s apartment and propose that they sleep together?

She brought her hands up to rub over her face, because _no_ , she hadn’t just proposed they sleep together; she’d practically had to beg Margaery into agreeing!

Sansa hadn’t thought of it like that at the time. She hadn’t connected the dots until after Margaery had gotten out of the bed after… everything.

But there she’d been, completely naked in Margaery’s bed. Naked and feeling better than almost any time ever in her entire life, because Sansa had _never_ experienced sex like that before. She was completely satisfied and sated, her body had felt like she could melt right into the mattress below. Supine and lax, with a fire still burning inside of her. Like, she wanted more; like she would always want more.

Sex had never been like that for her before. Even though it sometimes wasn’t a necessarily _bad_ experience, it had never been mind-blowing. She’d never before felt so thoroughly out of control before. She’d never lost herself so much in pleasure that she’d asked for _more_. _Harder_.

She’d thought that Margaery would be amazing in bed, and she was. Sansa had been stripped bare and laid out and had been thoroughly debauched, and for the first few minutes after Margaery had left the room, all she could do was revel in the feeling of it all.

It was after that, when she’d been in the room alone long enough to gather her thoughts, that she’d been able to see beyond _her_ side of things and see what the night had really been.

Which was, for lack of a better word, pathetic.

Rather, _she_ was pathetic.

Because in retrospect, it was all very clear: Margaery hadn’t responded… favorably to her suggestion that they sleep together, at all. In fact, she’d tried to talk Sansa out of it, more than once. She’d only kissed her when Sansa had been on the verge of a total panic.

And then she had made Sansa feel so, so good, just like she’d promised to her in that whisper that had made Sansa’s pulse go through the roof. But she’d done so while being fully clothed. Okay, so, she’d taken off her shirt – but Sansa had to ask! – but even then, had still been wearing her bra.

Then there was that whole moving Sansa’s hands off of her and placing them on the pillow thing. She’d only just managed to muster up enough courage and clarity of mind that Margaery had been right _there_ and on top of her and shirtless, and was hers to touch for the night when she’d tentatively stroked her hands up the older woman’s smooth, lithely muscled back. And then Margaery’s hands had tugged hers away, off of her.

Which had made Sansa unhappy, but she’d forgotten it quickly, because then Margaery was touching her and building her up and making her come, twice. But then, as soon as possible, Margaery had climbed off of her and then had scooted away to the other side of the bed.

She knew Margaery cared about her – it had been clear in everything that had happened between them last night. The way she’d touched her, the way she’d taken care of her – and that was why she’d done what Sansa had asked at all. Probably because she was worried she’d hurt Sansa’s feelings if she’d continued to say no.

Margaery was a good friend like that.

And… well, it _would_ have hurt. But Sansa didn’t think it would be as humiliating as realizing that the woman who had given you the best orgasm of your life didn’t want you back.

The facts had stared right at Sansa when she’d managed to think clearly at all. The fact that she was in Margaery’s bed, and Margaery, by her own proclamation, liked to use sex as stress relief, but she hadn’t wanted to do it with _Sansa_.

Because if she had wanted to… well, Sansa didn’t know how much clearer she could have been. She _threw_ herself at Margaery and had been very clear about her – her proposition.  

And now, how was she supposed to ever look Margaery in the eye again? Knowing that she’d had to talk Margaery into sleeping with her, and that Margaery in turn had sex with her because she was trying to be kind, not out of any sort of desire? She didn’t want to feel her naked body against Sansa’s, the way Sansa had wanted to feel hers. She certainly didn’t want Sansa to touch her, which she’d _so_ wanted to do.

It was without a doubt the most mortifying sexual experience in her life, because even if her previous experiences had never left her breathless and exhilarated and wanting more, there was at least the very basepoint that her partner wanted her in return.

That she hadn’t had to – to coerce them into sex.

So, no. She very much didn’t plan on leaving her bed that Saturday if she could help it. She was going to wallow in what had become of her life in such a short period of time. Truly, she had _known_ it was a bad idea! To just go to someone, especially who happened to be her friend, and propose sleeping with them?

Why did she –

When she heard her phone buzz against her bedside table, she closed her eyes as she took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds to try to calm the thoughts whirling through her head. She’d plugged her phone into the charger when she’d arrived home last night without looking at it, and had kept it turned face down throughout the night.

Honestly, she’d been avoiding it since leaving Margaery’s because she _knew_ that Margaery would reach out to her. She’d been able to see the worry written all over her face when Sansa had gone into full panic mode. If _she’d_ had a friend who showed up at her doorstep, wanting to sleep together, who then ran out the way she had, she’d be worried, too.

Then again, Sansa didn’t think she would be able to bring herself to have sex with someone she didn’t desire, at least a little bit. Regardless. 

What was she supposed to say to her? _Sorry I practically forced myself on you_? Or _great, thanks for the orgasms, I’ll be sure to keep my hands to myself at all times in the future_? Or, even better, the question that had echoed in her mind for hours, _why don’t you want me_?

No. She wasn’t going to look at her phone; she was already in a low enough place.

But when it alerted her to a handful of texts, one after another, over the next twenty minutes, she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Rolling over, Sansa reluctantly unwrapped herself from her comforter enough to reach her arm out and grab her phone from her bedside table. And blue eyes widened in surprise when she saw how many messages she had waiting for her, as her hands started to shake slightly from nerves.

There was no way those could all be from Margaery, right?

The breath that left her when she saw that not nearly _all_ of the messages were from her was one of relief. With a deep breath, she started from the top.

**_Margaery – 1 missed call, 12:44AM_ _  
_ **

_**Margaery – 12:48AM** _  
_I think I might have an idea of what’s wrong, but_  
_I would really like to hear that you’re okay.  
_

Sansa’s cheeks burned just from reading the message. Was she _okay_? How could Margaery wonder if she was okay, if she knew what was wrong? Then again, Margaery likely had no clue what it felt like to be undesired; anyone with eyes wanted her. Sansa had seen it every time that they’d hung out.

**_Margaery – 7:53AM_**  
_Good morning early bird. Are you already_  
_awake? Can we talk before I go into my_  
_meetings?_

“Oh, Gods,” she whined under her breath. Because not only had she completely ruined her own day – and whole weekend and self-esteem – into the garbage last night, but she hadn’t even taken into account that today was when Margaery was meeting with everyone who was to be working with her on her campaign in the next few months.

Of course, she’d already known the small team of people who would be working with her, she’d told Sansa, but this was the first whole day that everyone was available to get together to work on strategies and advertisements and speech ideas, and everything else that went into running a campaign.

Margaery had spoken about it to her in great detail earlier in the week, and Sansa had been enthralled by her passion and her knowledge. Despite being around politicians all her life, and not only believing but _knowing_ that her dad was one of the best politicians, Margaery was… different. Driven and ambitious and cunning in a way that was captivating to listen to.

She’d been anticipating her day full of meetings today for over a week, excited to meet with her whole team for hours without interruption. And Sansa had probably soured a part of her day because of all of this. Entirely unintentionally, but still.

With trepidation, she scrolled to the final message that Margaery had sent her.

_**Margaery – 9:36AM** _  
_We really need to talk soon, Sansa.  
_

She froze when she read that, because she could _hear_ it in her mind. Hear how Margaery probably would have used that soft, convincing tone she had in her previous messages, but how that last one would have been firm. There was that firm, commanding way Margaery had about her, that was compelling without being threatening.

Sansa had marveled at it several times, because in her life, she’d known quite a few people who were commanding. But never in the way that Margaery was. It was in the way she’d told Sansa to keep her hands up above her head while Margaery touched her, last night.

Squeezing her eyes closed, she barely resisted the urge to hit herself in the face. How was it that she could have such conflicting feelings about something? How was it that she could think about something like that and get such a rush, but right on the heels of that thrill was that old friend of hers, known as utterly demoralizing humiliation.

Clutching her phone tightly, she dropped her fist down onto the bed with a sigh, she shook her head at herself. Guilt, hurt, and anxiety welled up into her, twisting together tightly in her stomach as she debated whether or not to answer.

Because on the one hand, Margaery was clearly concerned, and maybe even angry with her. Which she probably had every right to be, considering the way Sansa had left and then ignored her. And she _should_ message her; Margaery hadn’t been anything but a good friend to her, regardless of how… wrong last night had been.

But on the other hand.

She brought her phone back up and bit her lip as she read over the messages again. She didn’t know what to say, other than maybe an apology. And she very, very much wanted to put off any sort of conversation where Margaery would explain to Sansa about not wanting her the same way. She really couldn’t handle that, not right now.

Not when she’d spent half of the night agonizing over it already.

Instead, she tapped the button to send her back to look at her other new messages. And the fact that they were all from the group chat set up with her siblings went farther than anything else she’d tried to use to comfort her.

There were fewer things that could take her mind off of something as well as her family could.

_**Robb – 10:51AM** _  
_Just making sure all of the troops are rounded up_  
_for this afternoon. Everyone still up for a group_  
_video chat while we watch the live feed from Arya’s_  
_tournament finals?  
_

_**Arya – 10:52AM** _  
_i’ll def be there  
_

_**Arya – 10:53AM** _  
_on the live feed that is_

_**Arya – 10:53AM** _  
_kicking ass  
_

_**Arya – 10:54AM** _  
_dun duh duh dun duh duh dun duh duh dun  
_

_**Bran – 10:55AM** _  
_Yes, I’ll log on at 1. It starts at 1:15, right?_  
_And what is that last message supposed to be, Arya?  
_

_**Arya – 10:57AM** _  
_yah it starts at 1:15, braintrust. and the song was_  
_obviously the theme to the legend of dayne  
_

Sansa snorted a quiet laugh, feeling a bit lighter already. The theme song that was used in _The Legend of Dayne_ , one of Arya’s favorite shows about a deadly knight, was what she’d been listening to before a match for as long as Sansa could remember.

_**Bran – 10:59AM** _  
_Oh, *obviously.* My mistake.  
_

_**Rickon – 11:02AM**_  
 _robb are you coming over to watch w me and mom_  
_and dad_

_**Rickon – 11:04AM** _  
_cause if you are will you stay over after and play_  
_catch? you throw better than dad  
_

_**Robb – 11:06AM** _  
_Yeah, I have some paperwork to run by with dad_  
_before the finals start anyway, so I’ll be over soon._  
_Consider a game of catch booked for after the_  
_tournament.  
_

_**Jon – 11:09AM** _  
_I’ll be on around 1, too. My connection might not_  
_be that great, though.  
_

Lips curved into a soft, fond smile, she lost herself into the conversation as much as she could, before she sat up a bit to answer.

_**Sansa – 11:12AM**_  
 _When is your internet connection ever that great?_  
_But I’ll be there, too, same time as everyone else._

Jon’s internet connection was _always_ awful. It had been like that for years, ever since he took his job as a park ranger up north. Then again, he wasn’t much for online social medias, anyway.

_**Robb – 11:14AM** _  
_Sansa’s here and telling the real truth.  
_

_**Arya – 11:15AM** _  
_okay i’m going to go get ready for my finals._  
_can’t wait for you guys to see me kill it (or her)  
_

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister’s antics, but couldn’t help but smile slightly nonetheless as she wrote back.

_**Sansa – 11:16AM**_  
 _Good luck! Not in killing her, of course, but_  
_in winning._

_**Rickon – 11:17AM** _  
_yah good luck!! you should win so i can show_  
_all my friends like that time you kicked out that_  
_other girls tooth  
_

_**Robb – 11:17AM** _  
_Bring her teeth home as a souvenir when you win!  
_

_**Bran – 11:18AM** _  
_Please don’t. But in the event that she is severely_  
_injured, I’ll wipe the conversation so that there can_  
_be no charges pressed about premeditation.  
_

_**Jon – 11:20AM** _  
_You’re going to kick her ass._

_**Arya – 11:24AM** _  
_thanks for the luck, fam. not that i need it ;)_

In all honesty, with everything that had happened last night, Sansa had forgotten that they all had plans with their parents to video chat while Arya’s final tournament was on live feed. Her competitions in Essos were usually the only ones where no one in the family attended her finals. Many of her competitions were in King’s Landing, and Sansa always attended her finals, in addition to several others if she was free, despite the fact that she sometimes got a bit squeamish.

She and Jeyne had taken a few trips to see Arya’s matches in the last few years as well. She’d gone to Oldtown a few times, as well as Lannisport, and then to the Stormlands once. Her parents, Rickon, and Robb always went to every one of her finals that took place anywhere in the Vale and in the Riverlands. Jon even flew down to Dorne once to see her there. Watching her matches from online was their compromise whenever she was in Essos, though. Which wasn’t too often, but still.

In spite of the fact that she’d forgotten, she wouldn’t mind video chatting with her family. Their particular brand of craziness always made her feel loved. Familiar. Plus, she could do it from the comfort of her own bed, so, her plan for the day of not leaving was still intact.

She frowned a bit as she reached up to rub at her eyes, which burned a little because she’d had her contacts in a little too long last night, both during and after crying. Glasses were going to be necessary, then.

As she moved to put her phone back down, it chimed again, and she froze. Hoping that it would be someone in her family – because despite the fact that there was the traitorous little part of her that wanted to hear from Margaery again, she had _no_ idea what to even say to her, still – she took a deep breath and peered at the message.

And found that it was no one that she’d expected it to be, which was somehow both a relief and a disappointment – she hated that she couldn’t even sort herself out – but instead it was an email.

_**From: Tyrion_Lannister@klu.edu** _  
_**To: Sansa_Stark@student.klu.edu** _  
_**Subject: Great news for your weekend** _  
_**Date: November 6, 11:25AM** _

_Sansa,_  
  
_I hope the weekend has been treating you well so far. There are two pressing matters that have come to my attention. The first is that you’re graduating in the spring, which means you’ll be out of the comforts of school and into the harsh realities of the “real world.” So good luck with that endeavor. I know I’m not your advisor, but if you’d like to schedule a meeting with me about your plans for after graduation, I’d be interested in discussing some options with you._

_The second concern is that the assignments you were going to grade for me by Wednesday now need to be completed on Monday._

_Sincerest apologies,_  
_Dr. Lannister_

She barely managed to stop herself from snorting out loud, because _sincerest apologies_ her ass. The day Dr. Lannister genuinely meant an apology for a sudden change in grading due dates was the day he stopped relating the stories they were going over in class to stories of his “misspent youth” – Sansa’s words, not his – of traveling and drinking.

But then she pushed her head back into her pillow and groaned in frustration. Because those papers were situated firmly in her desk in the TA office at school. There was no way she could hide out in the safety of her own bed all day now.

It was with great reluctance that Sansa walked out of her room a half hour later, backpack slung over her shoulder as she quietly closed the door. Her stomach was still tied up in knots, and she still longed to be wrapped up in her blankets, but she had to keep up with her work in spite of whatever mortifying and upsetting rejections she was facing in her personal life.

She’d had a small hope that Jeyne wouldn’t be home, despite the fact that she knew her friend didn’t have work this morning and unlike her, Jeyne wasn’t an early riser, so unless she had a reason to be up and about, she typically liked to lounge around on the weekends. It was a hope against hope, really.

Normally, Sansa had already gone out for a morning run, showered, and made something for breakfast by the time Jeyne came stumbling out of her room. So if it was a day where Sansa didn’t have any other pressing matters, she would settle down on the couch with her roommate and watch whichever show she was catching up on at the time.

This morning was certainly not a typical morning. Because Sansa had never before done what she’d done last night, and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before Jeyne would be able to see that something wasn’t right.

Jeyne was exactly where Sansa thought she would find her in the late morning on a Saturday – cuddled onto their living room couch in a blanket, with a cup of coffee cradled in her hands. Her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion as she paused the latest episode of _Three Sisters_ , a family dramedy that they’d both been watching for a few years, as she turned to look at her, “Sans? I didn’t think you were home; it’s almost noon. Did you just get out of bed?”

The curiosity and confusion were both clear in her tone, and Sansa sighed as she stood up straight, trying to keep her voice light, “I – yeah. I, um…” she trailed off, cursing herself for not preparing something to tell Jeyne beforehand.

Because she could write a story and brainstorm with her mother about an imaginary land and characters for hours. She could lose herself in fictitious tales and worlds, ever since she’d been a child, but when it came to telling a lie about herself… well, that was a skill she’d never really acquired.

Especially not when it came to telling Jeyne about her sex life. Jeyne was the one who knew everything about her experiences; something that no one else could claim, because even with as close as she was with her mother, there were things she couldn’t discuss with her. Jeyne had been the first one to even tell her about the intricacies of sex!

Jeyne always had a way of getting the details out of Sansa, even when she didn’t want to share them. And Sansa definitely wasn’t ready to share the details of last night.

Her friend turned to look at her completely, dark eyes questioning, before they landed on her and Sansa knew within seconds that any semblance of trying to maintain a front was useless. Because Jeyne quickly sat up, that mischievous gleam in her eyes appearing, “Wait a second. You had sex last night!”

Throwing her arms into the air, she sighed in exasperation, “How do you know that?”

Jeyne grinned victoriously, scooting up farther, “Because I don’t like to read books, but I can read Sansa Stark fluently. Look at you, stumbling out of your bedroom late morning, your hair in that loose braid that you do after you shower when you’re deep in thought. Plus, the dead giveaway – you’re wearing your glasses in the middle of the day! Which you only ever do when you’re sick or when you’ve had a late night. And since you weren’t home until after I fell asleep, which was after midnight, I _know_ you had a late night.”

Burying her face in her hands, Sansa groaned, “Gods, we _do_ know each other too well.”

“Oh my gods, tell me _everything_! I assumed that you maybe met someone at speed dating and had some drinks; I didn’t think you would actually go home with anyone!” Jeyne drummed her hands lightly on the arm of the couch as she leaned forward, waiting for the details that she always inevitably dragged out of her. The smile on her face was almost enough to make Sansa snort in laughter, as Jeyne sighed out, “I love when you surprise me like this.”

Blue eyes rolled, “You act like I’m giving you a present.”

When, truly, the details about last night had been anything but.

Jeyne ignored her, “Come on! Tell me, what was she like?”

It didn’t hit Sansa until that moment that Jeyne truly thought she’d slept with a woman she’d met last night. Someone who wasn’t Margaery. Which, honestly, maybe it would have been better if she had. Because she didn’t think it would be as _amazing_ as she’d felt with Margaery. But at least in the aftermath, she wouldn’t have had these problems.

She wouldn’t be feeling so conflicted, like she’d done irreparable damage to a friendship that she’d really come to love? She wouldn’t have to face the fact that the first woman she had a major crush on truly didn’t want her the same way.

But Jeyne was looking at her so intently, and she cleared her throat as she crossed her arms, “Um. She was… older,” she hedged, having to clear her throat, “Pretty,” the word came out on a whisper; it was the strongest she could make her voice.

Then Jeyne narrowed her eyes, before she stood to step in a little closer, giving Sansa that suspicious look that she got when she knew that something was up, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Damn, that was it; that was all of the lying Sansa had in her. She closed hers as she blurted out, “Okay! Okay, fine. It was Margaery.”

Her confession was met with silence, until she peered her eyes open and Jeyne was giving her a wife-eyed look, before she shouted, “You _had sex_ with _Margaery Tyrell_? Magnificent Margaery?!”

That was all it took for her to crumble, and she covered her face with her hands, muffling her voice, “Yeah. Kind of,” because… had she? When she hadn’t even touched Margaery? Or did that just mean Margaery had sex with her?

Seven hells.

Jeyne reached up and dragged her hands away from her face, not that she put up much of a fight, “You _are_ aware that was the _opposite_ of the point of last night, right? You were supposed to get over Margaery.”

“I got under her instead,” she lamented, her voice weak, before she even realized the words that came out of her mouth. But Sansa was already too humiliated about the actual act to care about the words. And, oh well. It was just Jeyne, really, and Jeyne knew all of the ins and outs of Sansa’s embarrassing moments.

“Sansa!” Jeyne crowed on a quick guff of laughter. Dark eyes widened, before Jeyne implored, “Well… was she magnificent, as the name implies, at least?”

Sansa turned to sit on the arm of the couch, blowing out a long breath as her stomach churned. It was such an odd feeling, because, “Yes. She was – she felt – amazing.” Because Margaery had been better than Sansa had thought someone could make her feel. Her body _still_ felt it.

She’d been both gentle and a little rough, she’s known just where and how to touch and kiss and… and scratch and bite. Gods, she felt herself flush, her stomach bottoming out at the thought of it. Her breath caught in her throat, eyed widening as she tried to think of anything else.

Like, for instance, about how that hadn’t done anything for Margaery.

But Jeyne wasn’t mollified, as she crossed her arms and her voice became serious. Serious and somber in the way that it had whenever Sansa had told her about whenever Joffrey had done something particularly awful.

“Shit. I don’t know how I missed it; you’ve been crying! Look at your eyes!” which made Sansa frown, because she _had_ looked at her eyes, and she’d only seen very faint traces of her overnight consternation. “How did this even happen? Was she – did she ask you to have sex with her? When you told her that you were going speed dating?!” With every sentence, the frustration Sansa heard grew, and despite the awful feelings she had, she was quickly shaking her head.

“No! No, that’s not – no,” she insisted so quickly that stumbled over her words, shaking her head and pushing herself back up to stand in front of her friend, “She definitely _wasn’t_ jealous, and – and she wasn’t the one to propose we sleep together,” she finished in an embarrassed mumble.

Which only made Jeyne stare at her. For long enough, that Sansa couldn’t handle it, because it just reminded her about the fact that _she’d had to talk Margaery into having sex_ , and she shook her head, “I’m going to go. I have to go to campus and pick up some papers.”

But Jeyne reached out to grab her wrist before she could move, and she turned to look down into dark, concerned eyes, that had a touch of wonder in them, “Did you really ask her to have sex with you?”

Sansa bit her lip and nodded, holding her friend’s gaze.

“And… did she hurt you?” Jeyne asked, her forehead scrunching up, before her features shifted, “That’s it. You know what? I’m going to have a talk with so-called Magnificent Margaery, and –”

Sansa tightened her hand around Jeyne’s, “No! Jeyne, seriously,” the urgency in her voice didn’t even measure up to what had quickly seized up into her throat. Especially because Jeyne _would_ , “She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for.”

She felt her cheeks burning at that, because – damn, had she asked for it.

Jeyne searched her face, looking skeptical, “Then why are you so upset?” worry etched into her features.

Sansa’s face crumpled, and she choked out the words, “She doesn’t want me back.”

The dubious look on Jeyne’s face intensified, before she shook her head quickly, “Wait a second. That’s – that’s not even possible!”

But Jeyne hadn’t been there, and she _so_ didn’t want to discuss the details aloud, so she quickly added on, pleading, “Please let it go. I have to get to school.”

Jeyne gave her an unwavering stare for a few long moments, confusion and incredulity written all over her face. But, despite all of the tendencies she had to overstep boundaries and to force issues, she was a friend, first. And Sansa figured her desperation to try to forget about the previous night was fairly obvious when Jeyne bit her lip, undoubtedly holding back the many comments and questions she had, “Fine. But I have a lot of questions,” she apparently couldn’t resist adding on.

Which made Sansa roll her eyes, a dark chuckle working out of her throat as she muttered, “I’m sure you do.”

Sansa had her own questions. Like, _why would she ever do that_?  

With a sigh, she flickered her eyes to the clock above the tv, “But I really do have to go,” as it was, she was going to have to video chat with her family from the TA office, and she really didn’t want to be late.

Jeyne sighed as she shook her head, “All right,” her eyes narrowed in thought, “But… am I really not allowed to have some words with her?”

Gods, Sansa could only imagine how awfully that would go over. Margaery could tell Jeyne about how she was just being a good friend, and – no. Sansa couldn’t even handle thinking about it, and she shook her head, “Don’t. Please don’t mention it at all, ever, actually.”

She reached up, scrubbing her free hand over her face, knocking her glasses askew momentarily as she rubbed her thumb over her tired eyes, before she heard Jeyne sigh, and then found herself pulled forward into a hug, Jeyne’s arms wrapping around her waist.

And Sansa allowed herself a moment to sink into her best friend’s comfort for a few seconds, before she took a deep breath and pulled back, fixing on a forced smile. Which was more for her own benefit rather than Jeyne’s, seeing as how she _knew_ that Jeyne knew she wasn’t okay.

With a quick wave, which was met with Jeyne’s considering look, she left the apartment before Jeyne could ask anything else.

The subway ride and subsequent walk to campus was brisk in the November air, and really didn’t help Sansa clear her head at all. In fact, it only reminded her that she’d left her favorite jacket at Margaery’s last night.

She’d been in such a rush to _get out_ so that she wouldn’t have to face Margaery again, that it had completely slipped her mind that she’d left it there.

She tried to shake herself out of those thoughts, even though she was certain that it was close to impossible, as she let herself into the quiet TA office. There was rarely anyone else here on weekends, thankfully, and only a handful of people even in the building at all.

Pulling off the light scarf she had on, she draped it over the back of her chair as she pulled out her laptop to turn it on and pull up the video chat window. As it loaded, she sank into her hair with a tired sigh and pulled open the top drawer to find the assignments that needed to be graded sitting right on top of the pile, all in order with a paper clip holding them together.

That, at the very least, was going right today, she supposed.

Blowing out a breath through her teeth, Sansa reached out to click on the call button for her mother’s account, which was the one that was always logged on at home. Her dad didn’t typically make video calls, and Rickon’s account had been deleted after staying up until three in the morning, playing video games while online with his friends.

The picture that her mom used as her icon gave her a little bit of comfort right away. It was one that Sansa had snapped herself, at Christmas last year, where her parents were exchanging soft smiles.

And then her phone buzzed from where it sat on the desk next to her, and her gaze was drawn to it as her laptop started to ring with the call awaiting to be picked up.

_**Margaery – 12:57PM** _  
_If you don’t respond to me soon, I’m going to_  
_have to assume you are in a ditch somewhere.  
_

Sansa stared at the text, her thumbs over the screen as another stab of guilt hit her right in the chest. It wasn’t like Margaery _deserved_ to be ignored. She hadn’t been lying to Jeyne earlier – Margaery had only done what Sansa had asked her to. Repeatedly.

It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t feel the same desire Sansa had felt for her.

But, _gods_ , why couldn’t she had just said it outright instead of taking Sansa into her bedroom? To her bed?

And – fuck – Sansa was only just remembering how she’d told Margaery that she’d _liked the picture of her family_ right after Margaery had taken her into the room to strip her bare. Like that was what she needed to think about, on top of everything else!

She’d shown her truly awkward self to Margaery before, and it had been somewhat of a comfort knowing that Margaery somehow didn’t think of her as ridiculous. But _this_ was another thing entirely, and –

Her phone dropped from her hand back to the desk when her call was picked up, and she heard her dad asking, “Sansa? Hello?”

Taking in a deep breath through her nose to try to take her mind out of her fixation, Sansa shook her head before she quirked an eyebrow at the call screen on her laptop. Which _should_ have had the video of her father and whoever else was at the computer already, but instead it was just black.

Confused, she leaned in a bit, “Dad?”

The relief in his voice was evident, “Oh, good. You’re here. But I can’t see you. The screen is black.”

The knots that had been so tightly and thickly settled in her stomach all night lessened slightly as a small smile quirked up her lips, “I think you need to go into your settings, because I can’t see you, either.”

“Settings? How do I…” he trailed off, muttering to himself, and Sansa breathed out a small laugh. It didn’t matter that he’d learned to text, had mastered the art of email, and knew how to properly use Google; her dad was unfailingly amusingly awful with technology.

She was prepared to instruct him on how to turn camera settings on, before she heard Robb’s chuckles in the background, “Did you try to get a jumpstart on the video chat, dad? I’m impressed!” he joked.

Sansa shook her head, despite the fact that they couldn’t see her yet, “Don’t be _too_ impressed; the camera isn’t even on.”

“Sansa?” his voice came even clearer, and within seconds, the camera was flicked on, revealing Robb and her dad, leaning in toward the computer, side-by-side. Her older brother’s expression was jovial, cheerful in a way that was infectious, as he gave her a warm smile, “Hey, little sister.”

She felt a little more calmed even then, with those similar blue eyes grinning at her, and she relaxed into her chair, greeting quietly, “Hey back. How did Jeyne’s fitting go, for her dress?”

As always, her brother’s face lit up at the mention of his fiancé and talk of his wedding, “It went well. She’s looking forward to you coming back for the holidays to get you fitted for your bridesmaid dress.”

It was easy to let a little, contented sigh escape her at that. She was looking forward to Robb’s wedding in the spring, so much.

Both of their attention was grabbed by Rickon, who shouldered his way in, rolling his eyes up at Robb in a way that made her laugh, “Gods, Robb, _enough_ about your wedding. It’s not happening for months.” He sent her a bright, toothy grin, “Sansa! Did you hear the new song I can play on the drums?”

She nodded, thinking of the video he’d sent her last week. It wasn’t very good, really, but then, not many of his songs were. She loved that he sent her the videos, anyway.

Before she could say anything, Rickon’s attention diverted, “Wait! Bran and Jon are both calling!”

Within moments, Sansa’s screen was filled, with the main call of Rickon, Robb, and her dad in the center video, and two smaller chat boxes in the top corners, one with a blurred Jon and the other with Bran.

She already felt more settled, finding herself smiling at them, before her mom walked into the room. Her smile melted into an even more into a genuine one, especially at the way her brothers and dad stepped aside slightly, letting her mom gracefully slip into the chair.

As always when they were all in one space, even if it was virtual, several conversations all started at once, and Sansa easily tuned them out, just taking comfort in their voices for a few seconds, before she caught her mom’s gaze, “Hi, mom.”

Her mom’s smile was like home itself, “Hello, love.” She opened her mouth to say something else, before blue eyes – so like Sansa’s own – narrowed in speculation and she leaned in closer, “What’s wrong?”

_Oh no_. Sansa felt herself flush, because of _course_ her mom noticed; her mom noticed everything! Even if it was only through a webcam. And suddenly, Sansa wasn’t only subjected to her mom’s thoughtful look, but her question also gained the attention of all of her brothers and her father.

Quickly, vehemently, she shook her head in denial. Seven hells, even if they knew that she was interested in woman already, she would _never_ share… sexual… details. There were things that siblings _never_ needed to know.

The breath that she’d taken in caught in her throat and she had to cough a few times before she could manage to get out, “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, I’m just, uh, thinking about Arya’s tournament.”

It was convincing enough to pull her brothers back into the whole reason of why they were even video chatting, and they started talking again. All she had to do was avoid her mother’s knowing gaze, which was easy enough to do, as Arya’s first match out of three was set to begin in only a few minutes.

They all pulled up the website that streamed her kickboxing matches, and Sansa reached behind her to grab at her scarf, twisting it between her hands as her stomach jumped the moment she recognized her sister. Truly, Arya was her little sister, but it always amazed her how actually _little_ she was when she was seeing her in comparison to all of her fellow kickboxers.

Sansa would say one thing about kickboxing despite the uneasy feeling she often got while watching: there was very little that distracted someone quite like watching people throw and land, evade and endure kicks and punches for just over an hour.

They all cheered for Arya at the very end, when she knocked her final opponent clear out. Even as Sansa cringed – because she was pretty sure her sister just knocked out that other girl’s teeth in addition to her mouthpiece in her final blow – she was smiling victoriously.

Winning this tournament in Essos was leading her sister one step closer from her amateur status to professional, and despite the fact that Sansa couldn’t relate to this exact passion, she admired it. She used to tease her sister for her interest in kickboxing, especially because she was so short. But she had so much fight inside of her, Sansa really wasn’t that surprised at all that she was _making it_.

Despite Sansa’s distaste for the actual blood in the sport, she was proud of Arya.

It was the same feeling she saw on all of her brothers’ faces, too, as they all spoke excitedly over one another. Jon’s somber face had one of the biggest smiles as all, even as his connection crackled and he informed them, “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

They echoed various goodbyes as his blurry video showed a little, awkward Jon-wave, before going back and exiting the screen. Bran followed soon after, though his connection remained crystal clear, “I have a group project to do in the library.”

“Are you still coming to visit next weekend?” their mom asked, lifting an eyebrow.

And Bran nodded, reaching up to push up his glasses in the same way that Sansa always pushed hers up, “Yeah,” he hesitated for a moment, his cheeks coloring slightly before he told them, “Meera is going to be driving Jojen home for the long weekend, and they’ll give me a ride, too.”

Sansa knew that the small grin she wore was the same one that was mirrored on Robb and Rickon’s faces; it was one that embarrassed their brother, because Bran’s crush on his roommate’s sister that he’d had for the last two years was no secret amongst them. Well, their dad didn’t really know about it, and though Sansa suspected their mom did, she never let on. Instead, she simply nodded, “Okay, be safe. I love you.”

Her younger brother returned the sentiment, before clearing his throat, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Bye, everyone.”

And again, Sansa was left with only one screen.

Rickon and Robb stood behind her parents on the camera, her little brother now taking swings at Robb’s hands as he held them out for makeshift target practice, as Robb narrated, “And a right hook! Then a jab!”

Rickon landed a final punch, before Robb dodged and captured him in a headlock, despite the fact that Rickon was in the midst of a major growth spurt, and Sansa laughed. She yearned for that feeling right now. For Robb and Rickon’s playfulness, for the feeling and smell of home.

“We’re going to play catch!” Rickon informed them, before shouldering his way out of Robb’s hold and over to the camera, his face large in front of Sansa as he gave her a large grin, “Want to read my paper for me this week? Please?”

His voice was earnest, and despite the fact that he had three intelligent and beyond capable adults there right in the same room as him, Sansa loved that he asked her for homework help. It was just like he did when he was so little and just starting school.

“Of course I want to,” she promised, and if someone else had said it, she was sure it might sound like sarcasm. But it wasn’t.

Her youngest brother gave her an even brighter, slightly smile as he backed up, “Thanks, Sans!” Before he turned his attention back to their older brother, “Come on, Robb.”

Robb shook his head with affection, before he leaned in to give her his patented Robb-grin, “I’ll call you later in the week, okay?”

She nodded, dutifully, as though Robb didn’t call her once every week or two, just to check in, “I’ll answer.”

Sansa smiled as they walked out of the room, her heart lurching just a bit at the thought of being _home_. She’d gotten homesick a lot when she’d first moved to the city for college, especially because she hadn’t even had Jeyne with her at the time. No, Jeyne had remained in Winterfell, and Sansa had lived in a dorm. And despite how excited she’d been, there were warm nights where she longed for the chill of home.

Those nights were far fewer now. Now that she’d made a true life for herself in King’s Landing, now that she considered this her home. Winterfell would always be _home_ , but just… in a different way.

But with the way she was feeling today? With her mind perpetually flashing back to the night before and making her hands shake with anxiety, as her head was trying to sort through everything all at once?

Yeah, she would like to be wrapped up in a blanket there, in her mom’s office. Enjoying that while here in King’s Landing it was just starting to really get a winter bite in the air, Winterfell had already had its first lighter snow.

A small sigh escaped her, as she was brought back to the present just as her dad excused himself. And she was left with her mom, who was giving her the same look she’d given her the night that she’d snuck out past curfew when she’d been sixteen. Even though she hadn’t actively gotten caught, her mom had _known_ , and had just waited for Sansa to confess.

But this… was not the same thing.

Her mom waited until she most certainly was alone in the den, and Sansa knew it was coming even before her mom lifted an eyebrow, “Okay, sweet, we’re alone. What’s wrong?” she repeated, her voice gentle and coaxing.

And Sansa was surprised by how much she _wanted_ to tell her. At least to tell her something, because there was no comfort quite like her mother’s. There wasn’t as much safety as she felt when her mom assured her that everything was all right.

How could she get that comfort, though, without telling her the whole story? And how in the _world_ could she ever verbalize to her _mother_ that she’d gone to a woman’s – anyone’s, actually – house and ask to have sex? Let alone… everything that came after.

 She _couldn’t_.

The words were stuck in her throat.

_I like girls._

_I like_ a _girl._

_I don’t know what to do._

She deflated on a sigh, as she picked lightly at the end of her scarf and looked down from the camera with a shrug, “I don’t… know how to say it.”

Her mom’s lips turned down slightly as she tilted her head. A clear show of sympathy, and she reveled in it for a few moments, wondering –

“You’re a surprisingly hard girl to track down on a Saturday afternoon,” the extremely familiar voice came from her doorway, startling her.

Sansa’s eyes widened, and she jerked uncontrollably in her chair as she quickly turned to the doorway, banging her knee painfully on the underside of the desk in the process. Her cheeks flooded with color, while her heart thudded quickly in her chest, “Margaery?”

She could hear the shock in her own voice, but it wasn’t as though she was seeing something that wasn’t there. There was no way she could mistake Margaery, standing there in the doorway of her TA office, wearing a fitted charcoal pencil skirt that was barely peeking out from a buttoned up black peacoat. Her hair was as perfect as always, even when it was lightly tussled from the wind outside.

It had even looked good last night, after Sansa’s hands had run through it, tugging –

She gulped, blinking her eyes quickly to try to push that thought away.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, dumbly, but unable to fully process the fact that Margaery was standing there, in front of her.

Margaery only arched an eyebrow at her incredulously, before she took a step closer, into the room. And the nerves that Sansa felt in her stomach weren’t like the lead weights she’d been feeling since the previous night, but instead they fluttered quickly as she caught hint of Margaery’s light, floral perfume.

Her tone was low yet firm, as she took another step closer, “Sansa, we need to talk about last night.”

The way her voice dipped slightly made Sansa a little short of breath, before she stopped breathing entirely, panicked, as she whipped back around to face her laptop, blue eyes wide. She sincerely hoped that her mother missed the implication in Margaery’s tone, but… well, she didn’t really have much faith in that hope.

There was a questioning lift to her mother’s brow, and she wasn’t sitting at attention, but Sansa knew she was watching them like a hawk, as she cleared her throat, “Last night?”

Oh, _gods_. She only narrowly resisted the urge to bury her face back in her hands, as she caught the momentary look of surprise on Margaery’s face. It was quickly covered, though, as she came even closer – her proximity setting Sansa on edge.

She hadn’t even noticed the fact that Margaery had her hands occupied with two cups until she placed them on the edge of Sansa’s desk, before she leaned down. Tendrils of that soft, light brown hair brushed Sansa’s shoulder slightly as Margaery ducked low enough to be seen next to Sansa in the video chat screen.

Sansa was at a loss for words as she stared at their webcam reflection. She was sitting here, with the woman who’d seen her naked only just last night, the woman who had brought her to orgasm only just last night, the woman who had been running all over her mind and causing her such turmoil all night… and her _mother_ was staring at them with a knowing look that made Sansa’s stomach clench.

Margaery recovered faster than Sansa’s thoughts could even catch up to her, and she gave Sansa a warm smile that – surely must have been only for show given that she’d ran away from her last night and then hadn’t answered any messages, but it _felt_ real. And it was enough to zip through Sansa and warm her. Before she spoke, “Yes, last night. Sansa was supposed to stay at my place for dinner, but something came up, and she had to leave rather suddenly.”

Dinner? Sansa tried to keep her confusion off of her face, before it quickly fell into simple amazement at the fact that Margaery was able to come up with a lie so quickly.

Thankfully, Margaery didn’t seem to even need her to speak, though. She slipped on an easy smile that Sansa marveled at, because _how did she do that_? How was she so casual in a situation that shouldn’t be casual at all?

“You must be Sansa’s mother; the resemblance is unmistakable. Not to mention, I’m a big fan. I’m Margaery Tyrell,” she offered, politely, her voice fresh and light and effortlessly charming in that way Margaery had that Sansa thought could captivate anyone.

Apparently not her mother, though, who merely offered her small, polite smile back. Sansa recognized it as the smile she gave to people that she wasn’t sure about yet; her reserving judgment smile, “Yes, I’m Catelyn Stark. Margaery? Are you a new friend of Sansa’s?”

Sansa could feel Margaery’s slight pause against her back, and the feeling of it – of her – made Sansa shiver. Which then made her blush all over again, because _her mom was watching_.

Coughing, Sansa quickly sat up, because what she didn’t need right now – probably the very last thing, really – was for her mother to question her and Margaery’s friendship. She was already going to have to explain why she hadn’t told her mother about Margaery, and she hadn’t the slightest clue what to say.

_Because we met on a dating website for gay girls?_

_Because I have a ridiculous crush on her?_

Regardless, she had to cut this off before either Margaery or her mother, both of whom were so skilled with people, started to really talk or ask questions, “I – sorry, mom, but I have to go.”

Her mom’s considering look that she’d been giving Margaery changed into a warm, yet still concerned look as she focused on Sansa, giving her a small smile, “Okay, sweet. I love you,” she said, and it sounded more emphatic than usual.

Or maybe she was just reading into things and being the slightest bit paranoid, she acknowledged, before returning, “I love you, too.”

She lifted her hand in a wave as she leaned forward to hit the button and end the call. And as she leaned back, she was relieved that Margaery had shifted back to stand next to her desk again.

Suddenly, irrationally, she missed her mother’s presence; because now it was uncomfortable. Now, she bit her lip before she remembered that she was wearing her classes – and she hastily reached up to take them off and put them down on the desk.

Not that it even mattered, really, because Margaery wasn’t attracted to her even when she was stark naked in her bed. It didn’t matter if she saw Sansa sitting in her glasses, with her hair still damp from the shower in a braid over her shoulder.

Damn, she so wished she hadn’t thought of that. She _so_ wished she could take back the last entire twenty-four hours, so she could avoid this entire step in her relationship with Margaery.

The brunette crossed her arms as she tilted her head, musing, “So you _aren’t_ lying in a ditch somewhere, then.”

Sansa’s breath caught as she felt that guilt from earlier return at having not answered Margaery’s messages. She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, running her hands over her face, as she shook her head, “Well. No. Obviously,” she added in a murmur.

“Obviously,” Margaery echoed, looking around the TA office.

And Sansa took that as a moment to look at her. If she could ignore the so many of the details of last night, she would be able to marvel at the fact that it had been _this woman_ who had been the first woman to touch her. That she’d been in stunningly beautiful and intelligent Margaery Tyrell’s bed.

As the slight wonder of that thought took hold, she breathed out, “How did you find me here?”

After all, it wasn’t as though she spent many Saturdays here in the TA office.

It drew those laser sharp honey brown eyes back to her in a second, and she felt them run over her face, as she answered, “It wasn’t all that difficult. I’m a resourceful woman.” She gazed at Sansa for another moment longer, before releasing a sigh.

Sansa wished she knew what the sigh was about. She didn’t _seem_ angry, but… “I’m sorry,” the words slipped out of her without much thought. But she meant them.

Margaery looked genuinely surprised, which Sansa didn’t get, as she shook her head, “ _You’re_ sorry?”

Gods, she couldn’t say this while she looked at her, and Sansa’s gaze fell to her lap, as she ran her palms up and down her jean covered thighs. She couldn’t even sort out the myriad of feelings that were storming through her right now, but she settled on _regret_ , “I’m sorry for asking you to sleep with me.”

Margaery was quiet for a moment as she took that in, and Sansa dared to look back up at her. Brown eyes were closed for a few moments, and when they opened again Margaery’s face was unreadable as she nodded, “I… thought that might be the case.”

“I know that…” she trailed off, swallowing hard, but she knew she had to say it, “I know that you were reluctant to do it in the first place.” And now Sansa knew exactly why, but those words wouldn’t make their way out of her. _I know you don’t want me and that you were being a good friend to me_. _I’m sorry I thought that my attraction to you was mutual._

Margaery breathed in deeply, before she gave Sansa an intense look, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Surprised, Sansa’s mouth fell open. Hurt her? Only her _pride_ , but… did Margaery not remember anything about her crying out for _more_? The thought made her throat go dry, and she quickly shook her head, “No! No, you – I – no.”

She cringed at herself. Truly eloquent.

Brown eyes watched her intently, and she wondered how deeply they were going to delve into this discussion. Gods, she hoped not too deeply. Before Margaery gestured to the chair next to Sansa’s, “Do you mind if I sit?”

Flicking her gaze to the chair in question, she bit her lip, “Uh, well, that’s actually Mya’s chair.”

Not that it would be a big deal to Mya if Margaery sat there or anything, but… Sansa was _stressing_. Because if Margaery was going to sit down, that meant she might really want to _talk_ about last night.

But instead of what Sansa might have expected, though in all honesty, she didn’t know exactly what she expected, Margaery’s lips quirked into that perfect teasing smile, “Do you think Mya would mind, then?”

“Probably not,” Sansa conceded and tilted her head, indicating that Margaery should sit. Inwardly, she tried to brace herself for whatever discussion could be coming her way.

She was an adult. She’d made an adult decision last night. And talking it out was what adults would do.

Still, she felt a strange combination of trepidation and admiration as Margaery smoothly, lithely stepped around Sansa’s chair to slide into Mya’s. She then nodded toward one of the cups that was still on Sansa’s desk, “It’s a tea, for you. You look like you might need it,” her voice was impossibly gentle.

It made Sansa’s treacherous stomach flutter more, even as heavy anticipation hung over it. Still. She _did_ need it, and she reached out to take the to-go mug between both of her hands, “Thank you,” she murmured, before taking a sip. It was her favorite, and exactly the way she liked it, and she felt a little surge of affection for Margaery, her chest feeling a little warm, even as she waited for Margaery to start to bring up the hard truths.

When she didn’t, and merely watched Sansa take another sip of tea with a speculative look, Sansa felt herself flush. Because it was apparently going to be up to her to start. So she took a deep breath, before she set the cup back on the desk, her hand still wrapped around it lightly, “So. Why are you… here?”

She rolled her eyes at herself, because what was _wrong_ with her?

Margaery quirked an eyebrow, looking incredulous, “You’re avoiding me after running out of my apartment, nearly in tears, and then ask why I’ve come to see you?”

Sansa tensed, her thumb shifting up on her cup to toy with the lid as she tried to think of something – anything – to explain herself. She offered a weak denial, “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Seven hells, that was idiotic.

All Margaery had to do was tilt her head and give Sansa a _look_ – the same one that Sansa imagined she used at work in order to get answers from people. _Real_ answers, the ones that politicians weren’t always eager to discuss.

It worked, though, and it made Sansa fidget, though she didn’t say anything as she averted her eyes back to her desk.

Rather than sound angry or annoyed, as Sansa thought she might, Margaery only let out a small, quiet sigh. It got her to look back up, and she wished – not for the first time – that she knew what was going on in Margaery’s head. Her voice was light when she spoke, as if she was talking to an animal that might dart away from her at the slightest provocation. Sansa supposed that she wasn’t entirely incorrect, “So, you can look me in the eye and tell me that you haven’t been avoiding me because we had sex?”

This time, her denial wasn’t weak or questioning, and the word slipped out before she could stop it, “No.”

But they _hadn’t_ had sex. Not… entirely. Not the way Sansa had thought or planned when she’d gone to see her the night before. Sansa didn’t _do_ casual sex or anything like that, ever. And even though she’d been terrified to propose it, the fact remained that before she’d put together all of the facts, it had been _amazing_.

Margaery had been good – so good – to her, and Sansa didn’t think that she was someone who could do casual sex with someone she’d just met, but with Margaery it had worked for her. Maybe it was because she already had that crush. Maybe it was because of their friendship.

Sansa didn’t know, but the sex aspect of it standing alone… it had really _worked_ for her. In a way that was shocking.

It was the sex that _hadn’t_ happened that had been all wrong. It was the fact that Sansa wasn’t only curious about what it was like to be touched by a woman, but that Sansa had also wanted to touch one. To touch Margaery. It was how Sansa hadn’t only wanted to experience what it was like to come for a woman, but to make one – to make Margaery – come for her.

She’d imagined _casual sex_ going very, very wrong in the past for a lot of reasons. But they all involved her not being able to reconcile the very idea of casual sex itself. Not with a stranger and not with someone she liked. Instead, it had been a completely unforeseen curveball that had been thrown into the mix to mess everything up.

She couldn’t say that, though. She couldn’t say any of that. Because it didn’t _matter_. What mattered was that… Margaery was right, and her shoulders slumped slightly, defeated. Tired, “Okay. I – well, I _did_ have an appointment to video chat with my family and to watch Arya’s finals tournament. And I do have papers to grade. But… I might have been avoiding you,” she admitted in a whisper, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Sansa,” Margaery’s interjection came swiftly and quietly, and Sansa didn’t know why exactly, but her tone managed to calm the churning in her stomach. It was soothing, and strangely, so was the way she lightly tapped her fingers against her cup of coffee, before she placed it on the desk next to Sansa’s as she stated, “We’re friends.”

“Friends,” Sansa echoed softly, but her own tone was disheartening as she leaned back in her chair, pulling her hand away from her coffee as she reached for her glasses again, sliding them on.

She just… she didn’t know _how_ to deal with being friends with Margaery after she’d humiliated herself like that. After Margaery had seen her naked, had been inside of her, had heard Sansa cry out her name.

She didn’t know how Margaery was looking at her, big brown eyes full of concern that touched Sansa, when Sansa would have fully understood being upset with her, for putting their friendship in a tenuous place. As her hand fell from pushing up her glasses into place, she toyed with the ends of her braid.

Margaery’s lips curved into a smile, before she dropped her hand from her coffee cup and reached out. Sansa’s breath hitched slightly, before she felt Margaery’s soft fingertips lightly brush over the backs of Sansa’s. Her hands stilled, and she felt herself blush at the light contact, but she couldn’t help it. Even the gentle stroking like that over her own fingers, allowing Sansa to feel the softness of her touch made her heart pound a little faster, and a hot, heavy feeling slide through her.

It wasn’t new, at all. It was what she’d been feeling whenever Margaery had touched her or been close to her in the entirety of their friendship. But now… it was stronger. Because _now_ , she’d felt those fingers touch her elsewhere.

“We’re friends,” Margaery repeated, tone unyielding but questioning slightly as she asserted, “And I really want us to continue our friendship. I’ve really come to value it, you know.”

Even though Sansa had known that Margaery really did care for her – last night was all of the proof she needed – it was surprising to hear a note of vulnerability in her confession.

Her fingers twitched against Margaery’s as she fought off the urge to flip her hand around and hold on. Which… probably wasn’t a good idea at this particular moment in time. Not with… everything from last night still freshly between them.

But for the first time since she’d left Margaery’s in that anxiety-ridden rush, she felt somewhat okay, again. Apparently she hadn’t irreparably damaged their friendship, and at that a small smile tugged at her lips, “I value it, too.”

“Good,” Margaery shifted to slide her fingers around Sansa’s and give a quick squeeze, her warm, soft palm curving over the back of Sansa’s hand. The light touch served to continue to make Sansa’s stomach dip low again, but this time somewhat pleasantly. Before she shifted back in her seat and out of Sansa’s space as she dropped her hand.

Margaery’s expression was more serious now as she fixed her gaze on Sansa’s, “We said that sex wouldn’t change anything between us, and I really want that. Nothing has to be strange if we don’t let it.”

She remembered that. She remembered Margaery had stated that she didn’t want anything to change, before she’d trailed kisses up Sansa’s neck that had made her practically melt. And it was no wonder she hadn’t wanted anything to change, because with the clarity of the day, Sansa could see that Margaery truly did just see her like that. As a friend.

Possibly as that naïve yet endearing girl that she’d felt like she should take pity on, as her _friend_.

Shaking her head, she cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair. Her uncertainty was back again as she ventured, “I know that’s what we said. It’s just… I’ve never…” she trailed off, her hands coming up in front of her, vaguely gesturing as if to reference their whole experience together.

But Margaery didn’t push for her to finish, and instead she shot Sansa a playful wink, “I know.”

Which – yes, it made Sansa blush furiously as it always did. And she’d thought that perhaps it would make her uncomfortable after last night. But she found the gleam in her eyes and the slight smirk _comforting_.

Margaery gave her a lingering look that Sansa decided was probably trying to assess how she was feeling, but… she didn’t quite know, before she proposed, “How about you act the same as you always have, and I’ll act the same as I always have, and we’ll keep being friends, as we have been?” The playfulness of moments before had dropped, and sincerity shone through.

“And it’s just that easy?” the doubt clouding her tone reflected what she was feeling inside. But maybe she was just over-thinking things too much, when they could be simple. She’d often been told that she had a knack for that.  

Margaery nodded resolutely, “It will be that easy if we want it to be.” She let that sink in for a moment, before she took her gaze from Sansa’s face and shifted it around the room, “Now, tell me, how do you ever get work done in here when you have no space? I stole Mya’s chair, and I’m practically on top of you.”

Sansa had been feeling somewhat back to normal, before she choked on the air in her throat at Margaery’s choice of words. Because her body tingled at the memory of Margaery being quite literally _on top of her_ and – gods – it was going to take a little while for that image to go away.

Margaery, for her part, seemed to be affected in a way by her own word choice, and Sansa wondered what was going on in that active mind off hers as brown eyes momentarily lost their focus as they gazed just above Sansa’s shoulder.

Still. _Friends_. And she made herself stay on the task of their conversation; she had to get used to Margaery’s teasing comments again, she supposed, because she made them often enough, “I tend to grade here when everyone else is busy. When I’m alone, it’s actually kind of nice. I’ve got a window, and everything.”

She gestured to the small, shitty window that hardly even opened, that also faced an ivy-covered brick wall of the building next to them. And she cracked a smile at the dismayed look on Margaery’s face as she took it in. For the first time in the afternoon, the tension disappeared from her shoulders, and she felt almost playful, herself.

Margaery turned back to face her, a sour, teasing look on her face, “And what a _charming_ view you have here.” Before Sansa could say anything, Margaery looked down at her wrist to her watch, before letting out a reluctant sigh, “I’m sorry to cut this a little short, but I have to get back to my meetings.”

Her words startled Sansa, and she gaped at Margaery, “You – you came here when you were supposed to be having your meetings?” because she’d of course known that she had said meetings all day, but they’d completely slipped her mind as soon as she’d seen Margaery, “They’re not done?” she asked, somewhat uselessly, because obviously they weren’t.

Margaery only shot her a quick smile, “They indeed are _not_ done, but I suppose that is the beauty of being in charge. I can call a small break to reconvene after lunch.” She stood, tapping her fingers lightly against Sansa’s desk, her arm brushing Sansa’s shoulder as she explained, “I wanted to surprise visit you when you couldn’t avoid me even longer. And I’m glad I did, even if I might have to stay at the office a little later.”

Her words brought that heavy guilty feeling back, and Sansa remorsefully looked down in her lap for a moment, before tilting her head back to be able to look at Margaery, “I’m sorry.”

Because these meetings had been important to her, and Sansa had known that. She just hadn’t known that she was that important, too.

But Margaery waved off her apology, “Don’t be sorry at all, sweetling. However, you do have to make it up to me. You owe me dinner,” she nodded, as though it had been decided between them.

And she looked up at her, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “I do?”

Margaery pointed in the direction of her laptop, “Remember? You and I had… dinner plans, and you rushed out? A deal’s a deal, Sansa.”

The teasing was back in her voice, and Sansa didn’t quite get what she was teasing at with the _dinner_ aspect, but she did remember with utter precision the fact that she’d offered Margaery the whole idea of sex as a _deal_ , and she was positive that’s what she was referencing.

Flushing, she had to clear her throat, “I – um, I could pencil you in somewhere. When do you want to have dinner?”

Margaery paused for a moment as she adjusted her purse over her shoulder, “Tonight, if you’re not busy. I’ll be having meetings straight through dinner time, and maybe we could get something after.”

“I – sure,” she wondered if she should be excited about it, considering the fact that she’d been in such turmoil all morning. But… truly, she was happy that things could be normal between them, and the words slipped out, “Do you want to come over to my apartment? I can make something.”

Margaery grinned, “I’d like that. I’m expecting a tour,” she informed her, which only served to remind Sansa that Margaery had never even been inside of her and Jeyne’s apartment.

She was going to need to get home and clean. And go to the grocery store.

“Bye, darling,” Margaery’s voice brought her out of her thoughts, before she swooped down and pressed a kiss to Sansa’s cheek.

It wasn’t weird or out of character for Margaery at all. But it was obviously the first time it had happened since Sansa had felt Margaery’s lips on her own. Since she’d felt them trail down her body. Since she’d tasted them.

And she completely froze in her chair, hands tightening around her knees, as Margaery stood back up. Sansa thought maybe she was a little more… erratic than usual as she backed away, giving her trademark wave, but then she quickly shook that thought away. It was definitely her who was just… having more difficulty than usual to process.

Sansa fell back into her chair, blowing out a long breath. Gods. She truly needed to get a hold of herself. But how could she when Margaery was doing things like delaying her meetings to come and see her and giving her those soft cheek kisses?

Then again, those – at least, the cheek kisses – were things Margaery had always done. And just because Sansa knew _for sure_ that her crush was hopeless, it didn’t mean it would just go away. It just meant that she had to deal with it, while also dealing with the fact that she knew what an absolute goddess Margaery was in bed, firsthand. And that she wasn’t going to get to experience it again. Even though she wanted to.

Which… was fine. It was totally okay. As long as Margaery apparently didn’t think that Sansa shouldn’t ever show her face in public again, then she could get over it. Her lingering embarrassment would go away in time.

_**Mom – 3:04PM**_  
 _Margaery seemed… interesting. You know you_  
_can talk to me about anything, don’t you?_ **  
**

Or, you know, maybe not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought! The response to the last chapter was incredible, I couldn't believe it. Thank you so much for all of the support, interest, and encouragement for this story, it means so much.
> 
> And, if anyone is interested, I got an ask as to what I imagined Jeyne to look like, so: oddcoupler222.tumblr.com/post/152002295680/


	12. Of Miscommunications and Clarity

Margaery leaned over the table in the room they’d reserved in the Red Keep for the day, her palm on the surface as she scrolled through the overview of the plans that had been determined today.

Though she’d had the general idea for her campaign over the last month – because never would it be said that Margaery Tyrell wasn’t a planner – and even though she’d been in contact several times with the handful of people that she had on her team, it couldn’t compare to what had happened today, with everyone in the same place and working in conjunction with each other.

It was like having a little taste of the future she’d envisioned for herself, and she couldn’t wait to have it all.

She, of course, had Renly working with her, who was so knowledgeable about the current day-to-day workings in the Red Keep – let alone his personal knowledge about Cersei. Not to mention, as her friend, he was willing to step in wherever was necessary. A general political consultant.

Then there was Meredyth Crane, whom she’d known since college and though they’d never been close friends, she was a genius with technology. Thanks to her work over the past few weeks and concentrated efforts today, Margaery had an official website that was up and running, with links to her previous accomplishments, a biography, her on-record statements and beliefs, interviews, as well as official social media accounts.

She’d known since the moment she’d decided to run that she would need Willam Wythers on her team, as she’d worked with him in the past for public relations and scheduling for many of her programs; there were fewer people who were better at building up the “face” of a platform. They’d hammered into place several events today, including a photoshoot and interview for the following week.

And then there was Desmond Redwyne, who was on loan from her grandmother’s staff. As a distant relative who’d been working in her grandmother’s campaigns for years, Margaery knew that her grandmother trusted him as much as she would trust anyone. Which meant that Margaery could trust him as well, in his official capacity as “researcher.”

Despite the fact that she’d been a little distracted in their earlier hours, given what had been going on with Sansa, Margaery had spent the past few hours with what felt like electricity in her veins. By all accounts, she should have been exhausted; she’d only gotten a few hours of sleep last night after Sansa had left and then she’d worried over her not responding to phone calls or texts.

Not to mention the fact that her body had still been caught up in the rush of having Sansa in her bed, naked, coming for her. So, it had felt like the blink of an eye before she’d had to get up and get ready for her day of meetings.

And all of the planning and strategizing they’d accomplished had only made her buzz with anticipation, sending a thrill through her that was unique to this aspect to her life. It was in times like this that she _knew_ this was her sense of purpose. That all of her careful plans and control were worth it.

Shaking her hair back, she released a quiet hum, and she scowled at the documentation of her meeting with Desmond. Though his official title was researcher, Margaery knew that his job also pertained to matters that… got hands a little dirty. It was during her time with him earlier that he’d discussed the fact that Petyr Baelish had been sticking his greedy little fingers into her history and into all relevant files on her. Not that he would find anything, as Margaery had assured Desmond.

Her professional record was _spotless_ , and Cersei and Baelish could search in every nook and cranny that they could find, and they would still not be able to find anything on her. Margaery had been extremely careful about every step she’d taken, academically and politically.

She had nothing to hide, and she could say that with confidence.

But just it was simply the principle of the matter. Cersei and Baelish together, despite the fact that they wouldn’t be able to find any dirt on her, was enough to grate on anyone’s nerves.

“Knock, knock,” Renly’s voice cut into her thoughts, and Margaery looked up to see him pushing the door open. He’d left almost a half hour ago, along with everyone else, reflected in the fact that he’d clearly already gone back to his office and packed up to leave as he was now standing there with his jacket buttoned up and ready. He nodded his head toward the laptop, “What are you looking at?”

Blowing out a small sigh, she shook her head as the small scowl died away from her lips, “Just the review from what Desmond said.”

Besides, she couldn’t be too upset about it. Not when she had never been more sure in her life that all she wanted for her future was well within her grasp. Cersei Lannister might want to fight dirty, but if she did, Margaery was no woman she could easily take down.

“Ah,” he lifted his eyebrows playfully as he stepped into the room, “The questions about your personal life?”

Slowly, she closed the laptop – the plans weren’t going to change and they would be there for her to review all she wanted later – as she rolled her eyes, this time in actual exasperation, as she answered shortly, “No.”

After the brief discussion and assurance that her professional life was spot-free, Desmond hadn’t even blinked before he’d asked about what kinds of things Cersei would be able to find out about her personal life.

Which had given Margaery momentary pause. Only just a moment, before she’d informed him, shortly, that _no_ , there was also nothing that would be found on her personal life. No, she’d never had any affairs. No, she’d never even had a relationship. No, there would be no angry exes of any sort coming out of the woodwork and wanting to talk to her opposition.

No, she’d never broken someone’s heart. No, she’d certainly never had hers broken. No, she’d never engaged in any rendezvous that resulted in any sort of lasting consequences. There was a reason she had always been upfront about her intentions and clear about discretion.

It was in the matter of the fact that he was in the business of digging up dirt – as well as the fact that he was a family member who was trusted by her grandmother – that Margaery knew Desmond was also questioning her about her sexual preferences.

But she’d been firm in her confidence that there was nothing to be found. Being a lesbian was no crime, of course, but Margaery was under no delusions about what repercussions it would have for her future. About how her sexuality would make her political life and plans of success that much more difficult and she was already well aware that she would be fighting uphill battles in the case of her age and gender; there was no need to bring anything else into the mix.

Especially something that had such little bearing on her life as it did.

Did Margaery enjoy sex with women? Yes. But she’d known since even before she’d started to truly explore her sexuality the consequences that could happen if she wasn’t careful. And she’d never spent nights in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about falling in love; not the way she’d spent so, so many nights wishing and planning for her career.

She’d enjoyed the love stories in movies as much as the next person – because _okay_ , yes, some of them could be beautiful; she wasn’t made of stone – but she’d never connected with those the way she connected with the movies about the lives of great women. The ones who overcame odds, or tried to at the very least, to fight for what they believed in and what they wanted.

Renly grinned in the face of her derision about the questioning line of her personal life, before he helped her pack up the remainder of her belongings and asked, “Care to join me for dinner? Loras is working the night shift; we can surprise him with food and catch him up about all of your plans.”

“As appealing as that is, I have plans,” she informed him, before she paused to wonder if she actually did, indeed, still have plans.

She hadn’t exactly been in contact with Sansa throughout the day, not after she’d left her in the TA office. Margaery had spent her morning meetings with her phone sitting next to her on the table with the volume on, because she’d been unable to bring herself to put it away while she’d fostered the small hope that Sansa might stop avoiding her and would return a message. She’d even been prepared to have a break in whatever activity she was engaged in, in order to take her phone into the hall and talk to Sansa in the event that she would hear from her.

Which obviously hadn’t happened. By the time their late lunch break came around, she was in a strange place. Because she’d been partially riding the high that she got from partaking in her meetings and making all of these plans, and at the same time had been conflicted. Because no matter what, she couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Sansa was ignoring her.

That Sansa was quite possibly very deeply upset with her, and Margaery wouldn’t even blame her because she was also facing a massive feeling of disappointment. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – lie to herself and say that she wasn’t disappointed in how last night had turned out because _gods_ , she’d wanted even more. She’d _wanted_ , badly. But she was also disappointed in herself for giving in to something that she’d known was a bad idea.

She was used to having more control than that. Then again. She’d never been faced with a situation where she would have any reason to say no to a woman who she was ridiculously attracted to, pointedly telling her she wanted to sleep together.

It was an odd feeling, the worry that had gnawed away at her, constantly there in the back of her mind during all of those early meetings. Margaery had never before not been able to put all of her focus into what she was working on before, especially when it was something as important as this.

Then again, she’d also never been in this situation before. Never had a friend like Sansa before. Never had to worry about the state of her friendship and wonder if she’d messed up something that she’d come to very much enjoy because of sex.

And she hadn’t known exactly how much her friendship with Sansa meant to her until she was worried about losing it.

After she’d seen Sansa with her own eyes and been able to talk to her, she’d felt better. Mostly better, anyway. Because there was still the fact that Sansa – sweet Sansa – seemed to be heavily blaming herself for everything. But still, she’d left feeling calmed and with the certainty that they would move beyond this in their friendship.

Margaery would see to it that they did.

When she’d returned for her afternoon meetings, she’d put her phone on silent and tucked it away, able to focus clearly now that there were no niggling thoughts in the back of her mind.

So she knew that while things had been smoothed over, somewhat, Sansa was still clearly a little shaken and upset about what they’d done last night. Margaery had purposefully pushed to have dinner together tonight in order to rid them of whatever awkwardness might be lingering.

As she pulled out her phone, she saw that she had a few messages from the woman on her mind. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told Renly with confidence that she had plans, as she was half-sure that Sansa was going to cancel. She’d thought Sansa might do so once she had the time to actually think about the two of them spending time together.

With slight trepidation, she read the messages, only to feel her apprehension melt into a surprising magnitude of relief.

 _**Sansa – 5:46PM**    _  
_You said that you were working past dinner_    
_time, but not when, so I’ll just cook soon and_    
_have it ready for when you’re done.  
_

_**Sansa – 5:53PM**    _  
_Not that there’s any rush or anything, obviously._    
_I mean, your meetings are important.  
_

_**Sansa – 5:55PM**    _  
_Plus you already took time out of them to see me_    
_earlier.  
_

_**Sansa – 6:31PM**   _  
_So, just, you know, let me know whenever you’re_    
_on your way and I’ll make sure dinner is warm_    
_when you’re here.  
_

Margaery couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head slightly. Because she would take this… awkward-rambling Sansa over an avoidant Sansa any day.

 _**Margaery – 7:47PM** _  
_I’m leaving work shortly, and very much_  
_looking forward to dinner._

Which was actually true. Not only was she looking forward to moving beyond… all of the mess of the last twenty-four hours, the glorious mess it had been at some points, but she was actually starving.

“Plans?” Renly questioned as he handed her purse to her from where it was perched on the chair next to him. A curious interest was written all over his features as he waited for her answer.

She perched her purse over her shoulder, before reaching for her satchel – the designer bag Renly himself had given her last Christmas, actually – before she informed him, her voice sharp, “I’m going to Sansa’s for dinner, if you must know.”

After Sansa had left, she’d given both her brother and Renly a piece of her mind, because even if they hadn’t caused Sansa to panic it was still the world’s _worst_ timing.

Renly nudged his shoulder against hers, jostling her as they started walking out, “Oh, _plans_ , with _Sansa_. And we were just talking about your personal life, weren’t we?”

Margaery gave him a _look_ , one that meant no nonsense. Because if this was about her typical sex life, she would have laughed with him, but things with Sansa were still too tentative. With a sigh, she shook her head, “I’m still not going to talk to you about what happened.”

Her friend held his hands out in front of him, joking pretenses fading, “If you recall, it was your brother who wanted to know all of the details. While I am surprised and vaguely interested, I’m still having trouble connecting the Sansa Stark in my mind to the bisexual woman who you have apparently now slept with. But I mean… talk about what is going on in your _personal life_.”

Margaery didn’t know Sansa from when she’d been younger, firsthand, obviously, but she didn’t think it took a psychic to be able to see who Sansa had been. What she believed in – because she was still that person. Just an adult version.

Margaery couldn’t quite believe that she’d slept with Sansa, either. Well, she _could_ believe it, as the memory was quite vivid. Quickly, she blinked away the memories of Sansa under her, because that certainly was not going to help her get their friendship back on track.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel a stone quickly sink in her stomach as she corrected, “Don’t say _personal life_ like that.” The way Desmond had said it. “It’s not like there is something sordid going on between Sansa and myself.”

They were friends. Who had sex once, and Margaery was still attempting to navigate the consequences of that.

“I didn’t say there was anything sordid happening. I _am_ saying that you had sex with her last night, went to see her over an extended lunch break, and are now apparently going to have “dinner” at her place,” the speculative look he was giving her made an uncomfortable shiver work up her spine.

Margaery shook her head in an honest denial, insisting, “We _aren’t_ having sex again, you know that’s not part of my plan. Sansa could hardly look me in the eye earlier as it is. This is just… dinner. With actual food,” she added on, feeling it was necessary.

He hmm’d in question, as he held the front door open for her and they walked out onto the front steps that were illuminated by the streetlights. Then he relented, “Okay, while I do believe you aren’t having sex again, because that’s not quite your style, this is still new territory for you. Going to have dinner with the woman you slept with last night,” he expanded, though it was unnecessary.

No, having sex with the same woman multiple times wasn’t her style. And while Renly was correct about the fact that Margaery had never in her life done something like have dinner with a woman she slept with, it also wasn’t as though she’d ever had sex with someone who she had any sort of relationship with prior, either.

So, she shrugged it off. Yes, it was new, but, “It’s not as though this is a date, Renly. Which means that anything that had happened beyond the realm of a… typical friendship, doesn’t qualify into any sort of category that Desmond need be concerned about.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him, daring him to disagree with her on the matter.

He didn’t, and only sighed with a small smile, “I was just saying.” He shivered, before tucking his hands into his pockets, “I suppose I’ll go have dinner with Loras by myself.”

Margaery leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek before pulling back and teasing, “Oh, what a hardship,” before she took a few steps away and murmured, “Thank you for today.”

Her friend only shot her a smile before he turned to go.

The drive to Sansa’s was quick, and she spent it thinking about what Renly had implied. About her relationship with Sansa. Which, really, even if Margaery had never been in the same position with someone before as she was in with Sansa right now, it wasn’t as though she was completely at a loss of what she had to do.

Margaery was great at setting goals and attaining them.

Her current goal was simple: to make sure she could make Sansa relax into her typical Sansa-self. As she’d told the younger woman earlier, their friendship could be as simple as they wanted it to be. So all Margaery had to do was take that direction, and she was positive that Sansa would follow suit.

Taking on a challenge she’d never faced before was always something she looked forward to, and this wasn’t so terribly different. It was a responsibility Margaery had never had to shoulder before – trying to calm her partner after sex so they could maintain a relationship.

It was, in fact, the opposite of what she’d done in the past.

With that in mind, a different sort of thrill than the one that had thrummed inside her earlier was coursing through her as she walked down the hallway to Sansa’s apartment. A determination of sorts, combined with the gentle excitement she’d come to associate with hanging out with Sansa in general, as well as the anticipation that she knew was caused by her attraction. That much was unavoidable after last night, but she figured that it would fade to the background again in due time.

Brown eyes slid over the warmly painted hallway, taking in the small personal touches that the apartment doors had on them. Though not in the same wealthy neighborhood that Margaery lived in, Sansa’s apartment building was secure, neat, and well-maintained. Not that she really expected anything less; Sansa was the daughter of affluent, respectable parents who were undoubtedly doting on their oldest daughter.

She’d been able to see it in the few interactions she’d seen between Ned Stark and Sansa firsthand, and even in the brief exchange she’d unknowingly stepped into earlier between Sansa and her mother.

As she felt that new buzz shoot through her, she approached Sansa and Jeyne’s door, taking in a deep breath. Before she knocked, she took in their door with interest. They had a mutedly cheerful welcome mat, as well as a small, cheerfully colored fabric bow up in the right hand corner of the doorframe.

She’d walked Sansa to her apartment building several times in the past weeks, but it was always at the end of getting coffee or finishing taking a walk, and she’d never actually come inside. It made sense to spend time at her apartment, as Sansa shared hers with Jeyne.

She would be lying if she said that she wasn’t looking forward to seeing where Sansa lived. Seeing someone’s living space could help tell you more about a person. And somehow, Margaery still had so much more to find out about Sansa, despite the fact that she already knew so much.

Offhandedly, she wondered if Sansa had gleaned anything about her from her own apartment.

Just as she was about to knock, the door was quickly pulled open. Had Margaery’s reflexes not been as soon as they were, she would have jumped and possibly squeaked from surprise.

As it was, her eyes widened as her heart thumped in her chest. And rather than come face-to-face with Sansa, she instead was looking into the dark brown eyes of Jeyne.

Jeyne, who she’d met on several occasions, and who had always have a bright, jovial, almost scarily over-excited gleam in her eyes. Right now, however, those eyes were staring at her, narrowed, and clearly unhappy.

And for all of Margaery’s ideas for how she and Sansa could slip back into their friendship, she’d failed to take Jeyne into account. It had been her own foolish miscalculation, because _of course_ Jeyne knew about last night.

Given how upset she’d seen Sansa was when she’d left Margaery’s apartment the previous night and how close Jeyne and Sansa were, she could only assume that Jeyne probably could have figured out what had happened even if Sansa didn’t tell her.

Still, despite the displeasure at the unforeseen potential complication of the evening – because Margaery had never before had to deal with the protective friend before – she smiled as pleasantly as she could in the face of clear distrust, “Jeyne, it’s nice to see you.”

Gods, she wondered how difficult Jeyne would make this when it became clear after several beats of silence that she wasn’t going to get a congenial response. Then again, it wasn’t as though Margaery thought of Jeyne as the type to put on a façade, even for the sake of politeness.

Margaery had known Jeyne as a boisterous kind of person, not the rather stoic one standing in front of her, who greeted, “Margaery. How magnificent.”

Though her intonation of magnificent suggested the very opposite of the meaning, and Margaery grimaced only slightly. Because, well, she already knew she’d made a mistake, and she’d already spent a good portion of her day restless and conflicted over it.

Still, she was nothing if not reliable in a social situation, and she gamely quirked her mouth into a smile, ignoring her tone to ask, “And how are you?”

Jeyne crossed her arms as she leaned against the doorjamb as she sighed and opened her mouth to answer. Margaery braced for it – for whatever harsh words might come her way – because… well, encountering an angry Jeyne hadn’t even been on the realm of her thoughts, which had all centered squarely around Sansa, not really on the people around her. But people like Jeyne, as well as the assessing eyes of Catelyn Stark from earlier – which had been surprisingly knowing and piercing – came in the package of being Sansa’s friend.

Especially being Sansa’s friend who had slept with her. Just as Loras and Renly and her intense work schedule came along with her.

But Jeyne snapped her mouth closed and rolled her eyes to send a look over her shoulder… somewhere into the apartment where Margaery couldn’t see from her vantage point. Then she lowered her voice, “Look, let’s drop some pleasantries. Tell me this: what are your intentions with Sansa?”

A short, disbelieving laugh cut itself off in her throat as she shook her head, “Excuse me?”

Gods, those were words she’d never had aimed toward her. She was in somewhat of a state of disbelief that she was hearing them at all, but especially that she was getting it from Jeyne Poole, who was somehow trying to stare her down.

Jeyne was undeterred as she repeated, “Your intentions. With Sansa,” she added needlessly.

Despite the fact that Margaery had dealt with some of the most intimidating politicians many times – her own grandmother was known to be one of the most intimidating! – she found herself actually impressed with the stare down she was receiving. Impressed by the very serious show of loyalty. Impressed, but she refused to be cowed by it.

Yes, she knew that there might still be lingering ramifications to deal with when it came to this whole… situation, but she was certainly not going to engage in a serious discussion about that with Jeyne. She and _Sansa_ had barely even spoken about what happened last night, which, Margaery actually thought that they should at some point but she didn’t want to make Sansa panic even more.

So, no, she would definitely not be discussing it with Sansa’s friend.

Besides, it wasn’t as though there was anything to discuss with Jeyne. She wasn’t there to pick Sansa up for a _date_ or anything decidedly amorous.

Settling back on her heels, Margaery answered honestly, “My intention is to have dinner. A _friendly_ dinner,” she stressed. She could feel the serious scrutiny Jeyne was giving her as eyes darker then her own raked up and down her face.

Finally, Jeyne shook her head, “I just want you to know that those who have mistreated Sansa in the past have experienced suffering at my hands. I might not look scary, but I have wrath,” she threatened.

And it was actually threatening, which Margaery commended her for. She wondered about those in Sansa’s part who had mistreated her, as she’d only heard small parts and put together a few vague conclusions of her own accord, and felt oddly satisfied that they’d suffered at the very least from Jeyne.

But she assured her, “I promise you that I have no intention of mistreating Sansa.”

It was the truth at the very least.

She thought that there might have been a modicum of approval there, but she couldn’t focus on it, as she heard Sansa’s voice call out from somewhere in the apartment, “Jeyne? What are you doing?”

She couldn’t help the way her head perked up, as she peered over Jeyne’s shoulder. Jeyne, who was slightly taller than she was, but Margaery had the advantage of wearing the heels she’d worn to work.

There was a confused look on her face as she came into view, before she met Margaery’s gaze and blue eyes widened. And Sansa blushed as she quickly turned to face Jeyne, “What were you doing, waiting by the door?”

Margaery took the opportunity to hold back a groan, teeth digging into her bottom lip as honeyed brown eyes briefly rolled to the ceiling. _Fuck me_.

It truly wasn’t a surprise, the hot and heavy slide of desire that slid through her. Because she’d been attracted to Sansa for months, ever since they’d first met. The sheer magnitude of it wasn’t even surprising, really. Because she’d been so turned on, so ridiculously aroused by Sansa only the night before, and Margaery hadn’t been able to… _work out her stress_ with Sansa the way she so wished she could have.

But seven hells, Sansa wasn’t making this easy on her. She was still wearing those thick, black framed glasses that she’d been wearing earlier, which had given Margaery a shock when she’d first seen her in the TA office. Because she’d never even known that Sansa needed glasses or wore contacts and gods, she was already stunning without them. But there was something about studious Sansa wearing her glasses with that long, vividly red braid pulled over her shoulder, in jeans and a loose sweater that was nearly hanging off one shoulder that _really_ was working for Margaery.

Last night, Sansa had been sexy – like, mouth-wateringly, stomach tied in knots hot – and _that_ had truly worked for her, too. Clearly.

There was just something about this, Sansa looking… cozy and relaxed, that was an unexpected turn on for her. She’d managed to take it in and push it to the backburner a few hours ago, and there had been a small hope that maybe Sansa would at least have taken off her glasses before dinner.

Still, there was also a measure of excitement that shot through her that she didn’t. Margaery was clearly masochistic, purposefully hanging out with Sansa the night after she _didn’t_ get a release.

Schooling her features and hopefully masking her reaction quick enough, because gods only knew that Sansa didn’t need to see how much she wanted her. Talk about derailing the little bit of progress they’d made earlier.

It was easy, though, to slip into a natural smile. Especially at the clearly vexed expression Sansa was wearing as she glared at Jeyne, who answered defensively, “Well, maybe I was waiting by the door! Just… a little?”

“I –” Sansa cut herself off with a huffed out sigh, before she turned from Jeyne to Margaery, and she enjoyed the way she immediately flushed, “I’m sorry, I – do you want to come in?”

Margaery nodded slightly, before shooting her a wink as she teased, “Well, unless we were going to have dinner in the hall…”

Quickly, Sansa shook her head, “No, come in. If Jeyne had any manners, she would have already invited you in," Sansa linked her hand under Jeyne’s arm when her friend remained standing in the same place and prohibiting Sansa from opening the door wide enough to let Margaery in, and tugged her backwards. She gestured down the short hallway as an obvious invitation, and she walked by the pair, just close enough that her shoulder brushed Sansa’s.

She heard the soft intake of breath and refused to acknowledge the way her stomach flipped at it.

“Excuse you, I have manners,” Jeyne interjected, though Margaery noted she didn’t look nearly as menacing when facing Sansa as she had moments ago.

Sansa shut the door and stared her friend down in a commanding way that Margaery had yet to see from her, which was entirely too interesting, and she lowered her voice to a murmur, “You _said_ you weren’t going to say anything.”

Even though Margaery had been sure that Jeyne knew everything, she now had no doubt that she’d been trying to face down Margaery for taking advantage of Sansa.

Margaery averted her gaze and instead focused on unbuttoning her jacket, sliding it off of her shoulders before folding it over her arm as she walked farther in enough to see more of the apartment. The walls were painted a pale, warm yellow, and the entire apartment smelled like spices that she couldn’t quite name, but it was delicious either way.

It felt homey yet refined in a way that reminded her of Sansa.

“I wasn’t – ugh, Sans!” Jeyne complained, dark eyes narrowing in Margaery’s direction, but she didn’t finish what she was going to say.

Sansa shook her head, lifting her eyebrows in a look that made her look stern, especially with her glasses on, before she pointed in the direction over Margaery’s shoulder, farther down the hallway, “To your room.”

The commanding tone she used made Margaery shiver slightly, and she couldn’t help but turn completely to face them again just to see this. Her amusement only amplified when she saw Jeyne roll her eyes, “Come on.”

“We agreed that unless you could be friendly, you would hang out in your room during dinner,” Sansa scolded, firmly, which made Jeyne groan and Margaery grin.

She couldn’t help it; commanding Sansa was simultaneously exciting and entertaining. And she was especially surprised when Jeyne sighed, then relented, “Fine. Yeah, I’ll be in my room.” She gave Sansa’s arm a gentle squeeze, before she turned to face Margaery, eyes narrowed once again, “But I’m going to be keeping my ear on things.”

Margaery’s smile didn’t falter in the face of her clearly serious threat – promise? – though she did manage to have a handle on the amusement in her voice, “You do that.”

As Jeyne walked down the hall and into a doorway at the very end, Margaery turned back to face Sansa, whose face was buried in her hands, as she let out a muffled, “I’m sorry about her. I – she… she’s really…just, protective,” she finished with a deep breath and a shrug, as she lifted her head again to reveal brightly blushing cheeks.

Margaery smirked as she shook her head, “There is no need to apologize. Though I can honestly say I hadn’t been expecting it, I find her loyalty appealing.”

Especially because the kind of person that inspired that kind of loyalty could only be a very special person. Which she’d already learned that Sansa was, but still.

“Yeah,” Sansa murmured, thoughtlessly, before she bit her lip and adjusted her glasses, silence coming between them.

Which Margaery _had_ been prepared for. For all that being friends with someone she had sex with was new for her, having casual sex at all was new for Sansa. Who could be – delightfully – awkward under far less stressful circumstances.

She wished she knew exactly what was going on in Sansa’s head, but she could guess. Between the two of them, it was up to her to make their relationship comfortable again.

“I can’t believe you sent her to her room,” the laughter in her voice wasn’t false at all, “And that she listened.”

And Sansa flushed even more, “Well, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t happened before. That’s actually, um, the tone that my mom used to use when we were kids. It gets a lot done. The first time my mom scolded Jeyne, she was terrified,” the redhead confided, her voice nearly in a whisper.

Margaery quirked a brow, because _yes_ , she could imagine that, “How long have you and Jeyne been friends?”

It was something that she hadn’t even really wondered before, because she just assumed it had been some sort of lifelong type relationship. But it couldn’t be, really, if Sansa remembered that.

“We met when we were seven,” Sansa told her, a fond smile pulling at her mouth as she walked toward Margaery, coming to stand beside her and gesturing at a cluster of pictures in a multi-layered frame a few feet away. She walked even closer, curious, before she saw that all of the pictures were snapshots of Sansa and Jeyne.

Starting from when they were little – probably seven, she supposed – and even then, cute little Sansa, with her red hair in twin braids and a missing tooth, stood inches taller than Jeyne, who beamed up at the camera with her arms around Sansa’s waist. The pictures progressed through their teen years, with both girls in a variety of pictures both candid and posed, casual and formal. It was sweet, really, and their closeness was as evident in picture as it was in their interactions.

Sansa had also apparently completely missed out on any awkward teenage years. There was not one picture where she wasn’t absolutely precious. Margaery herself had only experienced one – age twelve and thankfully before high school – but still.

Sansa came to stand beside her, and Margaery could feel her warmth despite the fact that there were a few careful inches between them, “Jeyne moved to Winterfell when her dad got the job to be my dad’s chief of staff, and during her second week of school, she saw me being teased by this boy –”

“You were teased?” Margaery couldn’t help but interrupt, but she couldn’t help but be surprised. And oddly annoyed at whatever little shit had been teasing that adorable younger Sansa.

Sansa’s eyes rolled, as she looked down at Margaery, shuffling slightly on her feet, “Yeah. It was only ever by Ramsay. That was his name. He was… actually, I think he was a psychopath and I’m pretty sure he’s in jail now. Anyway,” she shrugged with a deep breath, “Jeyne came out of nowhere, and shoved him. He tripped and when he fell, he slammed his face on the ground and broke his nose. We’ve been best friends ever since,” she finished, an affectionate grin on her face.

Margaery’s appreciate for Jeyne strengthened and she hummed, “I guess she wasn’t kidding when she said that she had wrath for people who mistreated you.”

As soon as Sansa registered what she said, her eyes widened, “She said – what?”

Margaery shrugged it off, and was glad that the awkwardness that could have faded in between them instead faded to only a minor, background feeling. She was confident and hopeful that it would soon be gone.

“It’s not important. What _is_ important is that I’m starving. What’s for dinner?” she asked, as she turned toward what she thought was the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh!” Sansa’s face lit up, “I made kind of a spread? It’s all Dornish food, because, um, well because it’s your favorite. And you’ve had such a long day, which was super important to you. Plus you came to see me during your lunch break, so I thought you’d be really hungry,” she cut her ramble off, gazing at Margaery as she bit her lip.

And she was charmed, a strange warmth settling in her stomach, “You made my favorite food? You didn’t have to do that.”

Sansa blushed, before she tangled her fingers together in front of her, “It was – I mean, today was a big day for you, so. Besides, I like to cook. And maybe you shouldn’t thank me yet, because I haven’t ever really made it before.”

Endeared, Margaery shifted her jacket that was still draped over her arm, and before she could say anything, Sansa looked down at it, “Oh! Gods, that was rude of me. Here, give me your jacket.”

She reached out to take Margaery’s coat, before she quickly walked to a closet near to the door and hung it up with quick, deft movements. Then she slowed for a moment, smoothing her hands over the arm of it, her voice soft, “I – um, actually, I left my jacket at your apartment last night.”

Margaery’s eyebrows lifted; she hadn’t expected Sansa to make any mention of the previous evening. Still, she nodded, murmuring, “I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t have it with me to bring back today.”

Actually, while Margaery _was_ very much aware that Sansa had left her jacket, she very purposefully had left it at her apartment this morning. She was a strategic thinker; she knew that it could have been a possibility that she would need to have a potential bargaining tool in order to get Sansa to talk to her.

But Sansa shook her head, “No, it’s okay. I just, um. Never mind.” She blew out a quick breath before she closed to coat closet, “Are you hungry?”

“Starved,” she deadpanned, though she meant it, “And even though you’ve never made it before, I’m positive that it’s going to be amazing. My cooking repertoire consists mostly of coffee, cereal, and salad,” she admitted, and enjoyed the aghast look Sansa gave her.

The truth of the matter was that she’d never really learned how to make elaborate meals. She’d never spent much time in the kitchen with their maid who fixed dinner every night in her childhood; she’d been too busy keeping up with all of the extracurricular that she took part in to care much for culinary exploits.

As it turned out, Margaery _was_ very much right about Sansa’s cooking – which was delicious and impressive. And she was more than grateful their meal conversation didn’t have any of those awkward lulls she’d worried about.

It was just… _nice_. It was nice to have a meal with Sansa, who genuinely wanted to know about how her meetings went. Who listened intently as Margaery told her all about her day and all that had occurred. Talking about these matters with Renly wasn’t the same, as he was there with her, in the thick of things. Though useful, it was like talking about business.

And talking about these things with her brother was entertaining, but Loras was less of the sit-back-and-listen-while-making-insightful-commentary type, and more of the come-right-out-and-say-whatever-he-thinks type.

It only reinforced the fact that Sansa was a friend she very much wanted to keep around.

Even when their plates were empty, they sat side by side, and Margaery took a sip of the spiced wine Sansa had bought to complement their meal – which had been a perfect choice, before she asked, “And what about your day? I believe you mentioned earlier about watching your sister’s finals?”

She knew from Sansa talking about her family that her little sister was a kickboxer who was currently in Essos, but that was about it.

An indulgent smile crossed her face, “She won. It was…” a slightly squeamish look took over, and Margaery was fascinated, “Gross,” she finished with a small laugh. Her hand came up to play with the ends of her braid in the same manner she’d done it earlier. Like she was unsure of something, before she offered, “Do you want to see it? There’s usually a highlight reel.”

Margaery was actually surprised by how much she did want to see it, and she nodded, “I’m intrigued.”

She watched Sansa take out her phone and quickly shoot off a text, as she explained, “Arya always has her highlights saved on her phone.” For a moment, she hesitated, before she handed her phone to Margaery, “She’ll send it to me, and then you can watch it. I, um, don’t want to see it again so soon after dinner.” A small shiver of disgust worked over her and she shook her shoulders slightly.

Which made Margaery chuckle, “So, you’ll see the fights in person and you’ll watch them live, but it grosses you out?”

Sansa shrugged, a light blush coming back to dust her cheeks, before she defended indignantly, “I’m there for support.”

Without thinking, Margaery reached out to rest her hand on Sansa’s, much like she had earlier. And much like she had earlier, she felt the light twitch of Sansa’s fingers under hers and heard Sansa’s soft exhale. She couldn’t resist stroking her fingertips over the back of Sansa’s soft hand before she let her hand drop, “I think it’s sweet.”

Sansa’s phone vibrated, and the redhead let out a shaky breath before she quickly stood, “Uh – that should be Arya. So, you watch the video, and I’ll clean up.”

Margaery shook her head, “Wait, you cooked everything. You shouldn’t have to clean up on your own.”

But she was already stacking up their plates, “No, you watch,” she insisted quickly, before she ducked her head and made her way into the attached kitchen.

Blowing out a quiet breath, Margaery watched her through the doorway. Perhaps the touching had been a bad idea; she might have to keep a better watch on that for a little while. It wasn’t as though she didn’t get a… feeling from it, either. Then again, she’d had a better time the evening before than Sansa had.

Well, better in terms of mentality, anyway. Obviously not physically, because she knew without a doubt that Sansa had enjoyed that aspect. But Margaery was the only one who’d been left wanting more, so to speak.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she reached for Sansa phone and tapped on the notification that popped up. And instead of a message containing a video, she instead was looking at a different message that popped up along with a friend request.

 _**Elia Sand – 9:38PM**    _  
_Okay, it’s technically not advised for me to look_    
_someone up from WLWoW events, but I figure that_    
_since my mom owns it, I won’t get into too much_    
_trouble, right? Besides, I feel that you, Sansa Stark,_    
_are worth a little trouble ;) Plus, I figured that you might_    
_be too skittish to actually use my phone number.  
_

The world came to a fast halt, and there was a bizarre weight that was sinking in her stomach. Even as she didn’t want to look, honey brown eyes narrowed at the accompanying picture with the message. This _Elia Sand_ had beautifully darker, tanned skin, sleek black hair with dark eyes to match.

But exactly who was this woman? Why was she messaging Sansa about _last night_ – presumably from the speed dating event – and what was that about a phone number? The wheels in her mind were already starting to turn and she found that it took a lot in order to not click on her icon to find out more about who this woman was.

That uncomfortable heaviness that had set in only burned a little brighter inside of her, though, the more she thought about it. What exactly had happened at that event – or, with this woman? – that had prompted Sansa to come to her apartment?

What had she done, and what had Sansa done, that had brought on Sansa’s wanting to sleep with Margaery? The idea that another woman might have put that in motion, that another woman might have been the reason that Sansa had come to her, full of the desire that had broken Margaery’s previously perfect record of self-control, made her feel almost nauseous.

It was _jealousy_ , she realized, dimly, still staring at the message through narrowed eyes. Not that she was jealous about the fact that Sansa might have caught the interest of another woman, or even that she would be interested in someone else. Because Sansa had every right to do those things, of course, and there was no reason for Margaery to feel upset about that.

No, she wasn’t upset; she was _concerned_. This was the same feeling she’d had when she’d realized that Sansa was going to this speed dating event in the first place. Concern over the fact that something would happen there – or _someone_ would – and Sansa would suffer the consequences.

Okay, and the unmistakable jealousy that she was feeling was merely about the sex aspect. Because regardless of her romantic design, if she had Sansa – or, any woman – in her bed, _she_ was going to be the only woman on her mind. Margaery herself was the reason a woman should want to be in her bed.

She hadn’t even realized Sansa had come back, until she could smell her subtle perfume as she came to stand next to her. Dark eyes roamed up Sansa’s body, until they melded with baby blues, which were alight with teasing as she as she sat back down in her chair, “I told you that it could be disturbing to watch.”

“Yes,” she murmured in agreement, before she realized that Sansa thought the expression on her face was because she was phased by whatever kickboxing video Arya was supposed to send. Frowning, she shook her head slightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she sat up straight and schooled her features back to a nonchalant expression. Her voice was light as she handed the phone back to Sansa, “It actually wasn’t your sister.”

Sansa’s forehead crinkled, her eyebrows coming together in clear confusion as she turned her attention toward the message Margaery had just read.

And she kept her gaze trained on Sansa’s face, because that pretty face didn’t hide a thing. Her eyes widened as she read the message, her face flushing as even the tips of her ears turned red. She was flustered, Margaery realized, and embarrassed. And… perhaps even annoyed, she put together as she greedily took in her expression. Because Sansa narrowed her eyes as she huffed out a breath, and her fingers hesitated over the screen, as though she was unsure of whether or not to answer, and even whether or not to accept the friend request.

Margaery was usually a patient person. Not that she _enjoyed_ having to wait for things that she wanted, but her chosen lifestyle was one in which she must play the long game. But her curiosity couldn’t wait now, not when this woman now had a presence in the room.

Turning in her chair to face Sansa completely, her legs which were crossed at the knee, brushed against Sansa’s. She couldn’t help but ask, “I thought you said last night was a disaster?”

Because it clearly couldn’t have been that bad, when there was this admittedly beautiful woman going out of her way to seek Sansa out the following day, after having apparently given Sansa her number.

Sansa’s blush remained even as she vehemently shook her head, before haphazardly tossing her phone back to the table, “It _was_ a disaster!”

Margaery knew that she wasn’t lying; that just wasn’t who Sansa was. But, seven hells, there was so much _more_ there that she hadn’t gotten the answers to. And she thought that maybe it wasn’t that important to know all of the details, but it was. Because last night was still weighing between them, and it wasn’t as though Margaery was going to be able to forget about it no matter what.

She took in the frustration that was mixed in with the myriad of other emotions moving over Sansa’s face, and that was all it took for her to take on an intense distaste for _Elia Sand_. Given Sansa’s reaction to her, Margaery had no doubt that Elia was directly involved in the _disaster_ of last night.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine that the woman who was now seeking Sansa out was one of the vultures Margaery had imagined would be there. Sure, she was pretty, and young, and apparently had been working at the event instead of looking for a date.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a vulture.

“But, you got her number?” she couldn’t help but push for an answer, despite the fact that Sansa clearly didn’t intend on using said number. She was unable to reign in her interest.

Sansa used the back of her hand to push up her glasses as she groaned, “It's not – she… we weren't… she worked there!” she finished before looking up at the ceiling as if she wished it would open and she could be sucked right out of the room.

A few beats of silence hit them, and Margaery took a deep breath, hoping it would loosen the knots that had settled there. Though she’d been fairly certain tonight wasn’t the best time to discuss last night, it appeared that they weren’t going to be back on even ground until it was discussed.

She ran her eyes over Sansa’s face, before she gently reached out to place her hand on the one Sansa had curled into a fist in her lap, “We are going to have to talk about what happened, Sansa.”

The hand under hers flexed, and Margaery could feel it shake slightly, before Sansa insisted, “No. No, we really don’t have to.”

Margaery quirked up her eyebrow, because there was _something_ more here, and now she couldn’t let it go, “We do, because we’re friends, and this is what friends do.” Well, it was what she and Sansa were going to do, anyway, “Now, tell me about… _Elia Sand_ ,” she couldn’t help the grimace that her name came out on or the dark tone.

But there was something about this woman that she already didn’t like.

Sansa’s eyes searched hers and she wondered what it was that she was looking for, what she was thinking before she let out a defeated sigh. Elegantly sloped shoulders slumped before she shrugged, “I don’t know what you want me to say. She… works for the website, so that’s why she was there last night.”

 _How unprofessional._ Margaery silently urged her to carry on by lifting an eyebrow.

“Before I left, she stopped me to buy me a drink,” Sansa rubbed her palms along her thighs as she trailed off.

She narrowed her eyes; what, was this woman trying to get Sansa drunk?! She’d been right. Vulture. “Why did she stop you?”

Though, she had a guess that she figured was very accurate.

Sansa pulled her braid back over her shoulder as she gave Margaery an unsure look, “I… well, she watched me on my dates.”

 _Obviously a stalker_.

Oblivious to Margaery’s inner judgement and rapidly growing – perhaps illogically fast – dislike of this woman, Sansa continued, “And she could tell that I was having… a difficult time. So she – I mean, we – I don’t know. Talked,” she finished, her tone weak as she brought her hand down to tap against the table.

Brown eyes narrowed at that, because what was Sansa leaving out? “You just talked? She didn’t… try anything with you?”

She was having difficulty finding the connection there about what must have happened to cause Sansa to come to her apartment proposing sex.

Sansa’s light blush made her feel like she had her answer, even before she shook her head, “No? Not really. She – I mean, she flirted. I think.” Sansa frowned thoughtfully, and it was ridiculously cute, “But it didn’t matter. Like I told you, I was a disaster, and she knew it.”

“So, she had nothing to do with you coming to my apartment?” she needed to get the clarification.

But when Sansa opened her mouth, and closed it on a hum, before finally giving in and letting out a heavy exhale, “She might have talked with me about how having sex with, um, a friend could make me less nervous,” she murmured, nervously.

There it was. That was all she needed to know in order to be sure that Elia Sand was responsible. Even as she glared at Sansa’s phone, though, she shook her head at herself. As much as she had heavy suspicions about the reason behind why thus Elia was advising Sansa about being more comfortable in her sex life, she knew that _she_ herself was responsible for things that happened the night before.

She drew her hand through her hair, as she caught Sansa’s eyes with her own and held as she quietly told her, “I think that we should continue talking, about… everything else.”

Sansa quickly shook her head, “Ah, no. We really don’t.” Before Margaery could gently insist that they _should_ , Sansa was already rambling on, “I just – I get it, you know? I know that you were just trying to be a good friend, and I know that you don’t want me back. And, and that’s okay, because you can’t control who you’re attracted to, and I shouldn’t have even put you in that situation in the first place. That was thoughtless of me, and selfish, and I’m _sorry_. I really am. But I really don’t want to talk about it,” she finished, frenzied, and slightly out of breath.

But Margaery couldn’t even… her brain had frozen, and she stared at Sansa as her mind processed what she’d just said. Her gaze was fixed on Sansa’s plump lips, which were slightly parted as she took in quick breaths, a tingle starting in the pit of her stomach, even as she was convinced she must have heard wrong.

She was certain that she’d heard Sansa incorrectly, because… there is no way she’d just said what Margaery had heard. How did Sansa do this? How did she manage to take a conversation and turn it on its head, rendering Margaery speechless so easily?  

“What did you just say?” she demanded to know, focusing all of her attention on Sansa because she had to be sure that she wasn’t imagining things.

Sansa’s blush intensified and she groaned, before she threw her hands in the air, all riled up, “I said that I know that you don’t want me and that it’s obviously not your fault, but I’ve spent all night thinking about it already and I would really rather just forget about it.”

Margaery sat straight up, an urgency racing through her despite all of her previous thoughts about nothing happening between them again. But she couldn’t help it, because Sansa looked so distressed, and – how could they have been on such different pages?

How could Sansa even _think_ that Margaery didn’t want her?

She _had_ to know, “Is that really what you thought?”

Sansa stared at her for a few seconds, as if _she_ was the one who couldn’t believe what Margaery was saying. Her tone was colored in exasperated embarrassment, “Of course it is! And it’s totally… fine. I understand,” she grew quiet, small, her hands linking together, “But it’s kind of mortifying. I’m sorry that I left the way I did, but I couldn’t face you after realizing that.”

There was a quiet pleading in her tone, as if begging Margaery to understand. But she couldn’t even wrap her mind around this. Sansa, the gorgeous woman sitting in front of her, thought that when Margaery was fucking her, she was not turned on.

“Is that why you left? You were upset because you thought I didn’t want you? Not… any other reason?” The words left her slowly despite the need to know the answer that was burning through her.

And Sansa licked her lips which… Margaery blew out a slow breath as she followed the action, before the taller woman sighed, “Yes. Gods, how much do I have to say it?”

Fuck. It was all she could think about, now. The fact that Sansa had only left the night before because she thought _Margaery didn’t want her_. She had no idea how aroused she’d been, how close she’d been sliding off her shorts and having Sansa touch her – or touching herself right there next to her.

Or how much she wanted her even right now, staring at her all wide-eyed with her glasses, breathing slightly erratically. How Margaery knew how easy it would be to dip her hands under the sweater she was wearing, stroking her fingertips over the soft skin of her back. Her hands tingled with the want of it.

Sansa heaved a deep breath, “I honestly just really want to move on from it. I mean, you said earlier that we could –”

Yes, Margaery had said earlier that they could! But it was far easier to say that and to try to forget all of the details of Sansa crying out her name when she was positive that Sansa had been so upset by it.

“– and of course I don’t blame you for it, like I said, it’s my fault for even proposing it in the first place, but –”

And she thought maybe she would regret this, but she just couldn’t help it.

She leaned in, capturing Sansa’s mouth with her own, catching the widening of Sansa’s eyes and her sharp intake of breath as her lips melded to those soft pink ones, midsentence. She couldn’t stop herself from nipping her teeth into Sansa’s bottom lip, then swallowing the gasp Sansa’s let out into her mouth.

Sansa tasted slightly like the wine they’d eaten and just like… _Sansa_ , like she had last night. Margaery could feel her body positively vibrating with tension before she melted with a whimper into Margaery’s mouth, which she felt zing through her entire body.

 _How_ could they have been on such different pages? She couldn’t even understand it; she couldn’t understand how Sansa could have felt Margaery’s mouth on her own like this, felt the way she sucked on her bottom lip, she way her hands came to brush up her sides lightly, and think that she had no desire for her?

She pulled away slowly, releasing the hold she had on Sansa’s lip, and then licking her own, to face Sansa’s stare. Though, her hands lightly stroked back down Sansa’s sides and fell into her lap. The stare where those blue eyes were reflecting so brightly at her, shocked and amazed.

The breathy, mystified way Sansa asked, “Why?”

Margaery shook her head slightly, baffled in her own right, “I should be asking you that! Why would you _possibly_ think I wouldn’t want you?” She slid her hands over Sansa’s thighs, only taking a moment to appreciate the length and warmth of them, before she shook her head from a mixture of sexual frustration – if only she’d known that last night! – and bewilderment, “Gods, I answered the first ever message I got from you – despite the fact that it was from Jeyne – about _hooking up_.” It just made no sense to her, “We had sex!”

She’d literally been inside of Sansa, had grinded down against her last night.

But Sansa was shaking her head, “But – not really!” she flushed, before pushing on, “I mean – you… touched me, and I liked it. But you didn’t let me touch you,” her voice dropped to an embarrassed hush, “You didn’t even take off your clothes, and then after… you rolled away.”

Margaery dropped her head back on a groan at the misunderstanding, curls falling down her back, “I was _trying_ to be a gentlewoman! I didn’t want to be a vulture who took advantage of you!”

“But I wanted you to take advantage of me!” the words burst from Sansa’s mouth and hung between them, clearly shocking her for even saying it. It certainly shocked Margaery, and the words sent even more licks of arousal through her. But Sansa made a valiant effort to recover, clearing her throat, “I went to _you_ because I trust you, and I wanted to… well, to _learn_ about being with a woman. But I didn’t even get to touch you back.”

Seven hells, Margaery took back everything she’d thought about her self-control in the last day. Because she so wanted to take Sansa again right here and now, just so she could feel how much she wanted her back. The thought that it was all reciprocal – that Sansa wanted to touch her in return – was enough to bring back almost exactly how turned on she’d been the night before.

She could picture it so easily, straddling Sansa right there in that chair, and guiding her hand to where she apparently wanted to touch – she took in a breath and shook her head, trying to clear it.

It wouldn’t even take much, really.

Rather than a _complete_ lapse of control, Margaery leaned forward again, but paused when she felt Sansa eagerly lean in as well. She could feel Sansa’s breath against her cheek, and she closed her eyes, as she whispered, “You are such a smart woman, Sansa, but _so_ wrong.”

This time when she made contact with Sansa’s lips again, it was soft. Just a brush, really, and it was so fascinating to her that the simple contact made her mouth tingle, the warm spread of _want_ sliding through her easily.

She really, truly wanted Sansa to feel that she wanted her, too. In the back of her mind, she wondered how _bad_ the redhead’s sexual experiences had been in the past if her self-esteem immediately jumped to _that_ conclusion.

So, so wrong.

It was wrong that someone as beautiful as Sansa thought that Margaery didn’t want her, especially after all of the flirting – gods, all of the comments she’d made that were jokes-but-not-quite-only-jokes – and her desperation of last night, too.

This kiss was a gentle apology, because she could only imagine what Sansa had been feeling earlier.

But it was Sansa who broke the contact this time, though she didn’t go far. She was close enough that her mouth brushed against Margaery’s making her breath catch at the accidental touch as she whispered, “I thought… we were just going to forget about last night and keep going on with the same friendship as before?”

She sounded almost painfully confused, and Margaery squeezed her eyes closed. It was mostly just annoyance with herself, because… yes, perhaps this was not the right route to go, “We… are, yes.” She let out a low, slow breath, attempting to calm her raging libido, before she pulled back to take a few breaths of fresh air. Air that didn’t smell enticingly of Sansa’s perfume, which could easily seduce Margaery into, well, seducing Sansa back into bed.

With another deep breath, she re-crossed her legs and smoothed her hands over the skirt she was wearing. And couldn’t pretend she didn’t enjoy the thrill she got when she saw Sansa’s eyes slowly track over the length of her legs.

“That is – we _are_ friends. And we will continue to be,” she clarified, “But, just so you know: you have _nothing_ to apologize for about last night. You didn’t put me into any sort of situation that I didn’t want to be in. That kiss was so that you know that I find you incredibly attractive,” an understatement, but a dignified one, “And I don’t want you to doubt that, despite the fact that last night was… that one time only sort of thing.”

There. Okay. Misunderstanding completely cleared up. Margaery could go on without thinking that she’d taken advantage of Sansa. Sansa could go on without the ridiculous notion that she’d taken advantage of an unwanting Margaery. Everything could go back to normal.

Well, normal for Margaery now meaning that she knew that Sansa Stark wanted to touch her and wanted Margaery to _teach her_ how to make a woman come. Gods.

And she sincerely hoped that going back to normal meant that Sansa would decline that Elia Sand’s friend request – Margaery still didn’t trust her.

As she attempted to get herself back under control, she made the mistake of looking back at Sansa. Who she’d expected to maybe look more relaxed or less embarrassed or something that wasn’t staring at Margaery, with a very concentrated, thoughtful look in her eyes.

She didn’t even have a moment to question what Sansa was thinking, before she got her answer, “What if… maybe friendship is determined by what you want it to be? We could, um, be friends, still. Without making last night a one time only kind of thing.”

She sincerely wondered if there would ever be a time where Sansa gave her a full day without shocking her. And she kind of hoped that she didn’t.

“Are you suggesting a friends with benefits situation?” She asked, because after all of their miscommunications of the last day, she felt it was necessary. And she tried to tamp down the excitement that shot through her veins at the very idea of it.

Sansa was clearly nervous, but somehow not unsure, as she gave a firm nod, meeting Margaery’s eyes even as that pink blush spread over her cheeks, like roses blooming under winter snow, “Yes. I mean, it would work for both of us, for all of the reasons that I said last night. And I mean… you didn’t even get to – to, uh, release your tension.”

Margaery was very much clear on _that_ , “To make sure that we are on the exact same page… you are proposing that we have casual sex?”

The way Sansa rolled her eyes at her made her chuckle softly, even before exasperation colored her tone, “Even though I’ve never done it, I know what friends with benefits is.”

An agreement was already playing on her lips, because in an ideal world, that would be the perfect situation. There was no way she would be hooking up with another woman in the foreseeable future, not during this election at the _very_ least. So, casual, discreet sex with a woman who was not only gorgeous but her actual friend for the time being… it looked like a Christmas present, ties together with a beautiful red bow.

But… there was a weariness in her that kept her from agreeing right away. She didn’t want to jeopardize this friendship, because after last night and this morning, she knew that this could be a monumental backfire. And it felt surprisingly shitty to have Sansa avoiding her.

Sansa apparently took her hesitance as a bad indication as she started explaining, “I mean. It could work well, right? Because I could, I mean, _you_ could teach me about sex with women, while at the same time, you could get some stress relief.”

Oh, Margaery definitely didn’t have to be _sold_ any more than she already was, and she breathed in through her nose to hold it for a moment, before slowly releasing. As much as she would love to say yes right now, she knew that letting that base instinct take over was not exactly the best idea.

She reached out to take both of Sansa’s hands in hers to still them from where they were lightly tapping at her knees. As she gently ran her fingertips down Sansa’s palms, she saw a shiver go through the redhead, which… Sansa was _so_ responsive. She loved it.

Still, she shook her head slightly, “I’m not saying _no_ – and don’t you dare think that I don’t want you, again. But I do think that before we do anything, we _both_ need to think this through. The last thing I want is for our friendship to implode.”

Sansa bit her lip as she nodded, her hands briefly moving to tighten around Margaery’s, “I… yes. Okay. That’s probably a good idea. I’ve never – you know, I’ve never even wanted to suggest something like that before.”

Oh, Margaery could imagine. And if Sansa thought that made her want her even less, she was dead wrong, “I know, sweetling. And I’ve also never been friends with someone I’ve had sex with before, so you see we’re both new.”

That earned her a small, sweet smile, and Margaery eased back, cutting off their contact, “I should probably go.” After all, it was getting late, and she’d had a long day, but she was surprised by how much she didn’t want to go. “But I don’t want to give Jeyne another reason to want to kill me.”

Sansa nodded before she bit off a laugh and rolled her eyes, “That’s _probably_ a good idea.”

Margaery was careful to keep a slight distance between them as Sansa walked her to the door, because her body was still buzzing with the high of all that had happened. She refrained from giving Sansa her usual kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye, though.

She wondered if that might be happening a lot now. If they were actually going to do this… this casual sex friendship, she wondered about how much else would change?

And she wondered if she should be afraid by how very much she _wanted_ it.


	13. Capability

Despite the fact that it was only just past six o’clock on a Friday night, Sansa was sitting comfortably in her bed, already wearing pajama shorts and her favorite sweatshirt that she’d gotten from KLU her first year. Her laptop was set out on the bed in front of her, with her mother on the receiving end of her skype call.

Blue eyes scanned over the airline confirmation page she had pulled up in her browser as she slowly nodded, “Okay, everything is all set. Arya and I have roundtrip tickets, set to leave in three weeks.”

Cat smiled, slightly distractedly, as she picked up a pen to write something down on her to-do list that Sansa just knew she had laid out in front of her, “Thanks, love,” she murmured.

Sansa took a few seconds to double check that she had everything in order that they’d arranged in the last half hour. After a few moments, she nodded to herself and pulled up her email to send the confirmation to her mom, because she knew she’d like to have them. It was practically a given to expect from her mom when she was in this planning sort of mood. 

She’d initially been slightly wary to video chat with her mom when she’d asked. It had been only last weekend, after all, that her mom had overheard part of her and Margaery’s conversation the night after… everything.

It had only been last week that her mother had sent her that text that hadn’t said really that she knew anything about Sansa’s love life, but, well, she obviously knew _something_. So, even though Sansa typically spoke to her mother a few times every week, this week had been limited to sparing text messages because she’d been nervous that the moment they started to _really_ talk, her mom would bring up her sexuality.

And despite the fact that she’d planned the hypothetical conversation in her head – repeatedly – about what she could say, she could never quite figure out how to get the words out. Which was ridiculous, and she _knew_ that, because her mother, and her whole family, had never done anything but love her.

Thankfully, those nerves had mostly melted into the familiar comfort she took whenever they were able to talk.

Mostly because it had become apparent when they’d started talking that her mother didn’t plan on bringing anything she might have overheard or figured out about Sansa’s personal life up.

Still, she knew it was there. Even though her mom’s gaze was still warm and loving, the way it had always been, and even though she wasn’t using any sort of different tone in her voice, the obvious conversation hung between them, unsaid. And though it wasn’t causing her _discomfort_ , per se, Sansa could feel it weighing down on her, guiltily eating away at her stomach.

She knew that she didn’t owe it to anyone to come out; she’d done plenty of research about coming out during her long months of self-discovery this past summer. And everything that she’d read was consistent in that coming out was personal and she shouldn’t feel guilty for not being ready to tell her family, yet.

Which she believed, of course. She, logically, knew that.

On the other hand, this was her _mom_. One of the people she was the closest to in the entire world, who loved her unconditionally, and Sansa was finally at a point where she was comfortable enough to accept her sexuality, so now she somewhat felt like she was _hiding_ it from her mother.

Not to mention, there was the big fact that her mother basically already knew and was apparently waiting for Sansa to bring it up.

Which Sansa could appreciate, she supposed. No, she _did_ appreciate her mother’s respect for her boundaries and her personal life. Only… she couldn’t find the right words, despite the fact that she was so good with writing them.

It was somewhat stressful, to say the least.

Her anxiety and guilt had marginally lessened, though, with the sound of her mom’s voice as she’d discussed whether or not Jeyne’s – Robb’s, not hers – family would be spending any of the holiday with them. And her entertainment of the fact that Sansa knew her mom hoped they wouldn’t, even though she’d extended the invitation to live up to the impeccable manners that she’d taught – or, attempted to teach – to all of the Stark children.

Even though, the previous year when the Westerling family had attended the annual Stark Family New Year’s Eve, there had been a lot of tensions running high. Even though Sansa liked her brother’s fiancé, she wasn’t a big fan of her parents, either.

The conversation had then evolved into her mother’s to-do list of arranging travel plans for all of her kids, which swiftly translated into having Sansa book her and Arya’s flights for the holidays.

“Okay, you and Arya will arrive on the eighteenth, Bran on the fifteenth, and Jon on the twenty-third,” Catelyn marked everything down as Sansa watched, before she tapped her pen lightly against her planner and looked back at Sansa, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth, “I can’t wait for the house to be full. Even with all of the yelling and bickering and running through the house. Not that Rickon doesn’t keep that up in your absence.”

“You _love_ the noise, mom,” she reminded lightly. But even as Sansa rolled her eyes in response, she couldn’t help but smile back.

In truth, she couldn’t wait, either. Despite the fact that she loved King’s Landing, and that she could see having a future here, being home for the holidays with all of her family was something she looked forward to every single year.

Especially their annual New Year’s Eve party, when their house was filled with all sorts of friends and family, and it felt like _home_.

Not to mention that her life back in Winterfell was much… simpler. She didn’t have any _confusing_ women – er, people – there who told her that they wanted her, and kissed her, but then didn’t respond favorably to a suggestion of being friends with benefits.

If she was going to give a random example.

Shaking her head slightly, she felt herself flush a bit because she’d been doing her best to not think about _that_ while talking to her mother. If anything, it felt like she would be jinxing the luck she’d been granted by her mom not bringing it up.

Quickly, she brought her gaze back up to the window with her mom’s face in it, but she didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Even when Sansa let out a small breath of relief.

Cat tilted her head and regarded Sansa warmly, “I do. I love the noise and the mess and having a house full.” With a frown, she checked her watch, “My editor is calling at six thirty, love. I wish we could talk a little longer, we’ve barely been able to catch up this week.”

The words sounded innocent enough, but Sansa swore that there was a little something _knowing_ in her mom’s tone. Then again, she could just as well have been paranoid.

Still, it easily brought that guilt back to gnaw lightly at her, and she cleared her throat, “I – yeah. I’m sorry, I’ve just been really busy with school, with finals coming up soon. We can talk again this weekend.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie; she _had_ been busy with school in the last week. But… not really busier than any other end of semester where she made time for her family.

Her mom merely lifted an eyebrow, a small glint in her eye that Sansa didn’t want to think too much about – gods, she _knew_ , and suddenly Sansa wasn’t looking forward to going home as much if she was going to be subjected to these constant knowing looks that were putting her back on edge – as she hummed for a moment, “Of course, sweet, don’t worry about it. Oh, don’t forget to send me the newest part of your paper that you told me about a few days ago. I’d love to read it.”

A small grin tugged at her mouth despite the uncertainty she was feeling again. It was even more uncomfortable because of the fact that it was such a foreign thing to feel when it came to her mom.

Still, she felt a nice warmth curl inside of her at the fact that her mom had remembered what she’d told her about the essay she was writing, and that she was interested in it, “I’ll do it this weekend,” she assured.

Her mother nodded and opened her mouth, before she seemed to remember something, and she sat up with a bit more urgency, “I nearly forgot – before we hang up, there is something I want to ask you. I know it’s probably not something you want to discuss, given privacy and all, but I’ve been meaning to bring it up,” she paused for just a moment, and it was all Sansa needed for her breath to catch in her throat as her thoughts started to race.

Oh no. Oh, gods.

She’d gotten too comfortable too fast, because this was _it_.

While she had no doubts that her mom was the best mother in the entire world, she _always_ knew when something was going on with one of her children. It was a frightening uncanny ability – Sansa had always thought so – as much as it was an impressive one. And part of what made her a good mother was that she acted on those instincts.

So, obviously, when she thought that something major was happening in Sansa’s life, she was going to bring it up. She’d been naïve, frankly, to believe otherwise.

Sansa’s stomach churned uneasily, and she pressed her hand against it as if that would help, even as she tightly squeezed her eyes closed.

Arya was the only person in her family who knew, but Arya was also someone in her family that could keep secrets better than anyone Sansa had ever met. Even though her sister loved to tease her, when something was big like this, she always came through.

But… regardless of whether or not this was the moment Sansa had imagined herself coming out to her mom, she guessed it didn’t matter, right? Because she was already somewhat _out_ to her, and her mother was basically only asking for confirmation.

She could do this.

She repeated it to herself, mentally at first, and then under her breath, as her fingers curled tightly into her shirt. It helped, somewhat, to calm her nerves, holding onto the soft fabric.

Taking in a deep breath and as much courage as she could muster, she blurted out, “Okay. Yes. I mean, I was kind of expecting this, but I didn’t, um, I mean, I wasn’t…” cutting herself off, she shook her head slightly, “I’m bisexual – I mean, that’s – I’m attracted to women? Not a lesbian, though, I’m fairly positive. So, both men and women,” the words tumbled from her and she cringed at herself

Because _what even_?

But now that she started, she couldn’t stop, “It’s just… I haven’t always known, you know? I only started figuring it out in the last six months or so, so I didn’t want to – to tell you without _knowing_ for sure.” The words somehow made her feel like a weight was both lifted off of her shoulders but like there was also an added one of uncertainty being blanketed on, and she finally managed to open her eyes, “But I know, for sure.”

Her voice was stronger than she’d expected, and even though her heart was thumping erratically in her chest and her nerves felt like they were tangling together, it felt good to say out loud to her mother.

Sansa bit her bottom lip again as the rest of her breath left her in a fast exhale, and she looked up at her screen to see her mother’s reaction.

Her mother, who was sitting back in her chair with an expression that Sansa couldn’t quite read on her face. Even though it wasn’t a _bad_ expression – it looked more like a bit of surprise, if anything – it didn’t feel reassuring, and her stomach twisted uncomfortably as her throat grew a little dry.

Her mom _wasn’t_ homophobic – neither of her parents were – and she’d heard so many discussions about fair and equal treatment of everyone throughout the years and had actually _seen_ her parents lead by example. She knew it wasn’t all just meaningless words to them.

Then again, none of her siblings were anything other than straight. Well, none of them had come out as anything other than straight, anyway, so it wasn’t like she knew how her parents would feel knowing it was one of _their_ kids.

Her teeth worried at her bottom lip some more as her thoughts raced.

But before she could say anything – only, what _could_ she say, now? There was no taking back what she’d just told – her mom spoke, her voice soft, “I was going to ask you whether or not you thought it would be apt to invite Gendry for the holidays, given his family situation, because you know that Arya refuses to talk to me about their relationship.”

And Sansa could only stare back at her as her cheeks burned in a furious blush, and the humiliation set in. Feeling like she swallowed a rock, her voice came out rough and low, “Oh.” Staring wide-eyed at her mom, she forced herself to speak, “I – I think that would be nice.”

Her voice sounded faint even to herself.

Even though she was tempted, so tempted, to hang up this disaster of a video call then, she felt frozen, and they sat through a few beats of silence that felt like torture. And she tore her eyes away, instead looking down and focusing on a wrinkle in her comforter. Her hand went to it, picking at the fabric and tugging on it for a second as she cursed herself.

She couldn’t handle it anymore, though, and words started spilling from her lips again, trying somehow to explain herself. Feeling like she _had_ to, “I – I thought you were going to ask… because you sent me that text last week. I know you’ve been able to tell that I’ve been – well, that something has been going on.”

Because her mom knew everything.

There was an edge of desperation she felt rising inside of her, the backs of her eyes burning with tears that she knew would be coming quickly, because _why hadn’t she said anything yet_?

But before any other words left her, though, she heard her mom speak again, this time in a comforting tone that reminded her of warm nights and soft hugs, “Sansa, love, please look at me.”

Catelyn’s voice was warm and nearly pleading in a way that Sansa was not overly familiar with. And even though she was reluctant, she had no reason to doubt that warmth in her mom’s voice; she never had.

This time when she dragged her gaze back to look at her, blue eyes meeting such a similar hue through the computer screen, she was met with a small smile, and – gods – the same look full of love that she’d seen many times, as her mom leaned forward toward the camera, “Thank you for telling me.”

“You already knew,” she mumbled, unable to stop herself.

The grin that was on her mom’s face grew a bit, as she shrugged lightly, “I suspected. But even so.” Her expression grew more serious, though, as she seemed to try to search Sansa’s face through the webcam, “You know that this doesn’t change the way I love you. Or the way your father loves you. You’re still our Sansa, no matter who you love.”

And even though she had known that – she _did_ – it didn’t mean that hearing the words didn’t make her feel so much relief that she could have melted right then and there into her bed, “Yeah?”

Those tears pricked at her eyes still, and she quickly reached up to wipe at them with her sleeve.

“Did you doubt it, love?” Catelyn’s voice was so full of concern, it could have made Sansa cry even more if she let it.

Feeling silly because of this overwhelming relief, she blew out a breath, “Not… really.” And that wasn’t necessarily a lie; she hadn’t really thought her mom or anyone in her family would actually treat her differently. But it hadn’t changed the fact that she’d been so nervous, “It’s just, I was scared. I don’t… I’m just figuring it all out now.” She shook her head at herself, because it didn’t even matter, really. What mattered was that she felt just _lighter_ already, and her voice was small as she asked, just to make sure, “So, you’re – we’re okay?”

“Of course we are, sweet,” her mother’s voice was emphatic, and pushed any remaining doubts away from her, before she asked, “Are _you_ okay? I don’t like to think that you’ve been so far from home, going through this alone.”

Sansa pulled her laptop up onto her legs as she leaned back against her headboard, all of the tension leaving her, as she gave her mom a small, teasing smile. It was almost alarming how easy it was to smile now, when only moments ago she’d felt like her world was on a precipice, “Well, I’ve had Jeyne.” But she quickly tried to dismiss her mom’s concerns, “I’m okay,” she confirmed.

And it was true, she was – okay with herself, okay with her sexuality. And she was more than okay now that she knew for sure that her mom knew.

That lightness came trickling in and with it, a crazy sense of peace. It kept her smile in place, even as her phone buzzed, a new text coming through.

She opened it automatically, even though her attention was still focused on Cat, who was giving her that warm look that said _I love you_ even more than actual words did, “I’m glad you haven’t felt alone. And I’m so, so happy you told me, even if it happened because of a slight miscommunication.”

A laugh worked its way out of her throat, her cheeks flushing, as she shook her head lightly.

Her mom continued, “Sweet, you should know that the most important thing about anyone you date isn’t about what gender they are, but about how they treat you and how they make you feel.”

But she only half heard the words, as her attention diverted to the text she’d opened.

_**Margaery – 6:19PM**_  
_Seven hells, this week has been insane. Are_  
_you busy tonight? I was thinking we could_  
_hang out._

Sansa felt like everything froze, except for her heart, which only skipped a beat before it started to pound in her chest.

She’d suggested being _friends with benefits_ – gods, she couldn’t even believe she’d managed to get the words out – with Margaery only a week ago. In all honesty, she was still in a state of disbelief at her own boldness.

But… after spending a sleepless night in a mix of mortification and despair about how to rectify the fact that Margaery had touched her and given her the most pleasure she’d ever felt while remaining unaffected, only to find out that Margaery actually _wanted her back_ – well, it had left Sansa not only ridiculously giddy, but more turned on than she would have imagined.

Because Margaery Tyrell was gorgeous beyond belief, more intelligent than almost anyone Sansa had ever met, had enough ambition to get her wherever she wanted to go, and she’d been with more women than Sansa could imagine. Yet, she’d been kissing Sansa, stroking her hands up and down her sides lightly, but enough to make Sansa feel dizzy, and she could truly feel that Margaery really did want her.

It had been enough to make Sansa look past the embarrassment she really should have felt upon suggesting that Margaery teach her how to touch a woman. Enough to push her into suggesting that they could still be friends while continuing to have sex.

And then Margaery had left, after suggesting that they take some time to think about it. Which – Sansa understood that. She more than understood not jumping into something like sex, especially with someone who had turned out to be such a good friend already, even more especially considering the night before when there had been so much miscommunication between them.

Really, Sansa understood not jumping into anything right then and there, because _she’d_ been the one to suggest it, and even she needed some time after Margaery had left to just – reflect.

But. It had been a week. And in that week, Sansa had reflected and thought it over, and… fantasized… more than she would like to admit.

She _wanted_ Margaery, which was no secret or surprise. And she wanted her friendship, because Margaery was a pretty great person. So if Margaery didn’t want to have the benefits part of the equation, then it would be okay with Sansa. They would keep being friends.

She just thought that Margaery would have, well, responded in the next few days about whether or not they were going to have those benefits. They hadn’t hung out all week – because not only had Sansa been a bit busy, but Margaery had been very busy, with not only her regular job in the Department for the People, but also having three campaign meetings, plus her photoshoot and another interview.

But they’d texted and talked. Every time Margaery had texted her, at first, Sansa had expected her to have some sort of answer or indicate which way she was leaning, about this whole proposal that Sansa hadn’t stopped thinking about.

And every time they’d talked, Margaery acted the same as she always had. As though they hadn’t had sex only last week, as though Margaery hadn’t told Sansa that she’d wanted her, as though she hadn’t kissed Sansa until her knees felt like jelly. As though Sansa hadn’t suggested they embark on having casual sex.

It was like she’d never suggested anything, and there were times where she wondered if she’d somehow made it all up in her head – even though… sometimes she swore she could still feel the way Margaery’s mouth had felt on hers. Definitely not made up.

But now there was this text!

_Hang out_? Was that some sort of metaphor? Was this her actually responding to Sansa’s friends with benefits suggestion, after a week of acting like Sansa hadn’t said anything at all?

Okay, no. She was probably just overreacting, right? Just because they hadn’t hung out in person since last weekend when _the suggestion_ was made, Margaery didn’t have to mean anything other than just… hanging out.

She told herself this, even as her mind was running circles, and she hadn’t exactly settled on an answer before she was already answering.

_**Sansa – 6:21PM  
** No!_

Blue eyes widened and she barely resisted bashing herself over her head with her phone because _why_ had she sent that?!

_**Sansa – 6:21PM**_  
_That is, no, I’m not busy. And yes, we can hang_  
_out. Where and when?_

She hit send just in time to look back up to catch her mother’s speculative look, and she felt her cheeks burn. Clearing her throat, she waved her phone slightly in front of the camera, “I – sorry. My friend texted me,” she explained quickly, rushing the words out, before dropping it to her bed and out of her hands, because there was a time and a place for thinking about having sex and it was so _not_ while she was supposed to be having a conversation with her mother.

Who was giving her a speculative look that Sansa knew enough not to trust even before she asked, “Right, speaking of friends – why don’t you tell me a little bit about Margaery Tyrell?”

For just a moment, Sansa panicked at the idea that somehow her mother could see her phone, see the texting conversation. Which was dumb, because even if she _could_ , that message had been truly innocent.

It was just her own thoughts that weren’t.

Trying consciously to appear like she _wasn’t_ thinking… inappropriate thoughts probably made her seem even more like she was hiding something. But even knowing that, she couldn’t help the way she stumbled over her words, “I – what? She’s nice. Um, smart. We – we met at…” quickly, she wracked her brain for whatever Margaery had told her father over a month ago at their surprise meeting, “Topped Off. Getting coffee.” She took a moment to clear her throat, hoping that her blush wasn’t as visible through the webcam, “Why, um, do you want to know about her?”

Her attempt at casual was the _least_ casual response in existence, and she knew it. Seven hells, Sansa was so far not in the habit of lying to or keeping things from her mother, especially when asked outright like this.

But it wasn’t as though she could tell her mom about whatever sexual… thing… was going on between them. _If_ anything was even going on between them.

**_Margaery – 6:23PM_ **  
_My apartment. It’s been such a long week,_  
_I’d rather not go out. I just need to relax.  
_

_**Margaery – 6:24PM**_  
_I’ll be out of the office in about an hour, so_  
_I’ll see you around 8?_

The small squeak that left Sansa’s throat was completely involuntary, as heat flashed through her body because – this _was_ affirmation about being friends with benefits!

Maybe?

Right? Because by Margaery’s own admission, she used sex as stress relief, and _it’s been such a long week_ that she _just needed to relax_.

_**Sansa – 6:25PM  
** Yes. Yeah, I’ll see you then. And there. _

Before she could run her mind around what this might possibly mean, or if it meant anything more than what was written, the way her mom cleared her throat was somehow _knowing_ , and it made her freeze. Phone clasped tightly in hand, she felt embarrassment slide through her at the idea that her mom might possibly really know what was going on.

Cat lifted an eyebrow, her voice light, “Well, it’s curious that you didn’t tell me about when you met her. We usually talk about all of your new friends.”

It was unquestionably true, and Sansa swallowed tightly, before forcing a shrug, “It, um, was more about… her career. And dad. You know how he can be, about politicians and all,” she tried to make the lie roll from her tongue seamlessly.

And if the slight look of disbelief on her mother’s face was any indication, she failed miserably. But, well, she couldn’t really think about that at the moment.

Shifting slightly in her seat, feeling somewhat restless now, she glanced down at the clock at the bottom of her laptop screen, “Aren’t you supposed to get that call from your editor in, like, two minutes?”

It was a saving grace against anymore Margaery-related questions.

Catelyn’s eyebrows knit together, and her look of suspicion was replaced instead by one of concern, “Yes, but I can miss that if you want to keep talking. Not necessarily about your new _friend_ , but… about anything. You’re more important than that, sweet.”

Despite the Margaery-inspired anticipation that had cropped up in her stomach, Sansa paused to allow herself to feel the appreciation slide through her once again. A thankful smile slid over her face as she looked at her mom’s genuine _caring_ expression, “I know. But, we don’t have to talk anymore about it. Not today.”

Maybe in the future, though. And the fact that that option was now open to her made that relief she’d felt earlier prominent once again.

“Okay. If you’re sure, then, I should probably go to take my call. I love you,” Cat stated, almost as emphatically as she had a bit earlier, and it was still just as comforting to hear.

“I love you, too,” she affirmed, softly, and took the moment to be grateful for her mom, before they disconnected the call. She had a second to take in a deep breath, before her phone alerted her to another text.

_**Margaery – 6:29PM** _  
_Great. I have something exciting to show_  
_you, too._

That – what did _that_ mean? She was already excited and flustered and confused – emotions that were not foreign for her especially where Margaery was concerned – and she quickly closed her laptop and tossed her phone to the side.

Gods, she had so much to get ready!

An hour had already passed by the time Sansa was back in her room. She’d taken a shower, shaved, and dried her hair, letting it fall straight over her shoulders and down the back of her robe as she deliberated with herself what to wear.

Well, not exactly what to wear. Because she knew that she was going put on the leggings that Jeyne had given her last year for her birthday that made her butt look really good, and a button up shirt that was nice, but also not-too-nice. But it was also casual – because she was so unsure as to whether or not anything was actually going to happen between them – and she didn’t want to show up at Margaery’s looking like… well, like she was expecting anything.

Shaking out her hands slightly, she bit her lip as she contemplated what underwear to wear. Should she go for something sexy? Not that she really had a _ton_ of “sexy” things, she didn’t think, but some things were more enticing than others.

Or should she just act like this was a normal day, where she wasn’t spending too much time thinking about what underwear she should wear to hang out with a _friend_?

In the middle of her quandary, her door flew open and she jumped in surprise, spinning on her heels in time to see Jeyne – clad in the sweatpants that signaled that she was going to have a night in – take a few steps in, while focused on her phone, “Hey, I was thinking about ordering a pizza. You haven’t eaten yet, right? I’m honestly starving. Maybe two pizzas.”

Sansa slammed her drawer shut, and she flushed, annoyed with herself for being so _obvious_ , “I, um, not yet. But…” she cleared her throat as Jeyne looked up, lifting an eyebrow when she realized that Sansa was still in her robe, “I’m actually going out,” she hedged around telling the whole truth.

Because she already knew what Jeyne would think – and say, because her best friend certainly had no qualms telling her the whole truth of her opinion, no matter what.

It was useless, though, and Sansa knew it as Jeyne took a few steps closer. She was so well-versed in reading Jeyne’s face that she truly swore that she _saw_ her thoughts processing. Dark eyes were first alight with curiosity, moving swiftly into intrigue, then excitement – all in a matter of moments – before her gaze darted to the drawer that Sansa had snapped shut.

And then she saw the dawning of understanding, seconds before her friend shot her a _look_ , “You’re going to sleep with Margaery.”

Sansa only rolled her eyes back at her, and then only repeated the action more dramatically when Jeyne groaned and threw herself onto Sansa’s bed, “Is there any use in trying to talk you out of it?”

“You’ve already tried,” she reminded her, needlessly, exasperation coloring her tone.

Because of course Jeyne had been eavesdropping last week when Sansa had dropped the friends with benefits suggestion. And she hadn’t wasted any time showing just how _aghast_ the fact that Sansa would even entertain the casual sex idea with Margaery made her.

Which was utterly ridiculous, and Sansa repeated exactly what she’d said to her days ago, “Jeyne, you’re the one who has always been telling me to _get out of my bubble_ and _live a little_.”

It was actually a major component of their friendship.

Jeyne gave her an unbelieving look, “But I didn’t expect you to ever actually listen to me! Need I remind you that the last time you went along with one of my dumb ideas two years ago, we were stranded across the bay in Wickendon for the whole weekend, without cell service?”

Gods, that weekend had been horrible; truly she should have known better than to not look over the travel plans Jeyne had come up with before leaving with her.

“You’re obviously the logical thought of our operation here, and it’s served us very well for almost two decades,” Jeyne flopped onto her back, gesturing without looking up at Sansa, “And if _you’re_ going out and making the irresponsible decisions, what am _I_ supposed to be doing, hmm?”

With an incredulous laugh that Sansa couldn’t help, she retorted, “Maintaining your composure, clearly. And you’re doing such a good job already,” she teased.

They made eye contact, and when Jeyne stuck out her tongue, Sansa grinned back for a moment. Before she glanced back at her phone, and the thought of Margaery and what might possibly be happening between them, came rushing back.

She sighed before dropping onto her bed next to Jeyne, “Look,” she bit her lip for a moment to try to search for the right words. Because no matter how ridiculous Jeyne was, Sansa knew that her friend was just protective. It was one of Jeyne’s most admirable qualities, even when she made Sansa question herself, “This… isn’t crazy,” at least, she didn’t think so. Even so, if this might not be the soundest decision she’d ever made, it was hers to make. “I’ve thought about it, and I want this,” there was a quiet conviction that she _felt_ from deep inside.

She wanted Margaery, both in her life the way she had been for months now and she craved even more of the physical closeness she’d gotten to experience last weekend. It was unlike what she’d ever experienced in the past and it was – thrilling.

“So, can you just… support me? Even if you don’t think it’s the right move?” she was quick to add on.

A few second ticked by, before Jeyne let out a long-suffering sigh and Sansa lifted an eyebrow as her friend pushed herself to sit up next to her. A warm hand covered her own, and Sansa already felt a little better about the uncertainty that had been running rampant through her since Margaery had texted her.

Jeyne gave her hand a comforting squeeze, “I _do_ support you. At the very least, Magnificent Margaery must really be something in bed if _Sansa Stark_ wants to engage in a sexual affair.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open on a choked laugh even as she used her shoulder to push her friend, “Shut up. And it’s not an affair,” she muttered, because it wasn’t like they would be doing anything illicit. Her other hand came up to pull at the end of her robe, which had fallen onto her thighs when she’d sat down, her stomach filled with anticipation, “Besides, I don’t even know if _she_ wants me, like that.”

Heat flashed through her, thinking about the affirmation that Margaery did want her and was attracted to her. The indelible proof still burned into her senses in the way she felt like she could still feel Margaery’s mouth on her own.

But attraction wasn’t the question, not really.

Margaery had never done something like this before, either. The sex, yes, clearly. But not regular sex with a friend – she’d said so herself. And it was entirely possible that she wanted to forget Sansa ever said anything, and just… continue as normal.

Jeyne gave her a look of disbelief, before she very obviously trailed her eyes over Sansa’s robe, and mirroring her by tugging at the hem. She ended by flicking at her knee, “Oh, she wants you, dummy.” She scoffed, tossing her head back, dark hair falling over her shoulders as she fell back onto Sansa’s mattress and letting out a sigh, “You can put the Margaery into Sansa, but you can’t take out the obliviousness.”

“Jeyne!” she flushed even as she shook her head and pushed herself back up and off her bed.

Her friend ignored her, flicking her wrist over in the direction of Sansa’s wardrobe, “And wear the matching black set you have. With the lace. Show off a little.”

After light deliberation, she decided Jeyne was right; black it was.

Less than a half hour later, Sansa’s hands shook lightly with nervous anticipation, and she knocked lightly on Margaery’s apartment door. As she stood there, she could hear quiet music playing from inside, and she took a deep breath.

It was so, so easy for her to slip into her own thoughts and think about the last time she was in this position. It had only been a week ago, of course, so it wasn’t like there was any stretch of her memory, but… she’d been in a remarkably similar position that she was in now. Knocking on Margaery’s door, anxiety and arousal already snaking together low in her stomach.

Though last week, it had been different; she’d felt like she was somewhat on a precipice and like she was diving over the edge by proposing to sleep together. Her emotions had been running high and she’d been _so_ unsure as to what Margaery would say or do – or think.

This week, she was marginally less nervous, because she had already jumped. And even though it hadn’t felt like it in the aftermath, it had been a successful jump in their relationship. Friendship.

But she was still standing here, _wondering_ what the outcome of the night would be. And she in turn wondered when that feeling of not knowing became something that was somewhat exciting; she’d never experienced that before.

Which lead her to conclude that it was entirely due to the Margaery factor.

She knew what she wanted to happen, though, and she just… she hoped that Margaery wanted the same thing. And she had already gotten her hopes up because of the whole _relaxing_ aspect, plus Margaery had something to _show her_?

What was that supposed to mean?

And with Jeyne there to bolster her confidence – in addition to the very vivid memory of the way Margaery had kissed her last weekend, with hunger and allowing Sansa to see the desire she had for her… well, maybe her hopes weren’t that far off from reality.

Margaery pulled the door open and already smiling and, as if it were a chain reaction, Sansa’s stomach erupted in butterflies. She drank in the sight of her, because a week was the longest they’d gone without spending any time together in months, and as always, Margaery was a gorgeous sight.

She had already changed out of the form-fitting business clothes that Sansa knew she must have worn to work, and was instead wearing her green tank top and yoga pants. And Sansa made the conscious effort not to let her eyes wander to take her in.

Light brown hair that had clearly been in an up-do all day fell down around her shoulders, tousled and messy, and Sansa’s fingers tingled with the memory of running her hands through the soft strands.

She felt herself grinning in response, taking in the wine glass in Margaery’s hand. And Margaery followed her gaze, before elucidating, “Today was a long day.”

Blue eyes narrowed slightly as she took in Margaery’s smile. Which didn’t seem strained or tired, as it did on days where she’d had a taxing day, instead it was warm, and Sansa tilted her head as she took a guess, “But a good one?”

“You could say that,” Margaery winked, and Sansa swore that her heart stopped for a moment, only to pound even harder than ever when Margaery’s gaze ran over her body. The glint in her eyes seemed sharper to Sansa and those hopes she’d had seemed to grow with leaps and bounds, before Margaery’s eyebrows crinkled almost unnoticeably and smoothed out again in the blink of an eye. Sansa didn’t have any time to reflect before their eyes locked again, and the smile on her face was inviting, “Come in, you look cold.”

Shaking her head slightly, as if she could take herself out of the buzz that settled low in her stomach, she took the invitation in even as she refuted, “I’ve told you; you don’t even know what cold is.”

Even though the late November weather in King’s Landing did merit a jacket, it was still nothing compared to the weather in the North. She’d told Margaery as much through one of the texting conversations a few days ago, when the temperature had dropped.

She laughed lightly at the way Margaery exaggeratedly rolled her eyes, “Mhmm, so I hear.”

Tucking red hair behind her ear, Sansa reached up to unzip her coat. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper slightly when Margaery leaned over, her shoulder rubbing against Sansa’s arm, so she could shut the door.

And it took a few seconds for Sansa to gather herself, but she gamely tried because she didn’t know what Margaery was thinking or feeling. Clearing her throat, she asked, “So, what made today such a good day?”

When Margaery straightened out, she reached out to help Sansa out of her jacket. Soft, nimble fingers brushed against her own and was it just her imagination or were they lingering? Then Margaery leaned back, Sansa’s jacket in hand as she shook her head, “We’ll get to that in a minute. Now, tell me, how was your busy week?”

Her eyebrows crinkled slightly in thought as she toed off her shoes. The thing was – Margaery knew how her week was. She knew because even if they’d been avoiding the topic that was hanging between them even now, they’d still talked. And yet, Margaery was still interested. It was in the way she quirked her head to the side slightly, her eyes alight and questioning.

Which – gave her that that feeling. The one with her stomach dipping low and like the area around her heart was warming. Biting her lip, she shrugged, “You already know most of it. Just… a lot of school stuff. Oh!” Feeling like an idiot, she gave Margaery a small, sheepish smile, because there had been at least one decently sized development that she hadn’t yet told to her friend, “My mom knows. About me,” she added, so that Margaery didn’t think her mother knew about _them_. Or the possibility of them, anyway. Even if maybe she did… still. “That I’m bisexual,” she clarified.

“When did that happen? We don’t see each other for a few days, and I miss the big moments,” Margaery lightly teased, but her tone was sincere, “Is everything all right?”

Sansa took in a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders even as she smiled, thinking about her mom’s face from a few hours ago, “She – well, she already knew, honestly. And then I blurted it out anyway.”

“I’m shocked,” the brunette deadpanned.

The bright laughter in those eyes, shining right there along with something that Sansa thought was pride, made her feel even better, “But it was good. She was… the best.”

Margaery gave her a warm look before quickly placing her wine glass on the small table next to the door and moving in toward her, strong, bare arms wrapping around her tightly, and her hand stroked along her back, sending sparks shooting through her. Margaery spoke softly, “I know you were nervous about it. I’m so glad for you, Sansa.”

For a second, she wondered if her brain was short-circuiting, because she couldn’t think of many times that they’d hugged before. Margaery did a lot of touching. She flushed at the thought, flashing back easily to last weekend, but she meant in general.

Margaery kissed her cheeks and would take a hold of her hands and run her fingertips through the ends of Sansa’s hair. She’d learned early after meeting her in person that Margaery was a tactile person.

However, they hadn’t really _hugged_ like this. This being able to feel Margaery’s whole body pressed against hers, able to feel her warmth through their clothes, feeling Margaery’s cheek rub against her own. They’d kissed and they’d had sex – well, Margaery had made her come… Sansa was still vague on the whole of it, since she’d not been able to touch Margaery back.

But still.

Her own arms wrapped around Margaery after managing to shake herself out of the thoughts, and she took a moment to inhale. Her subtle perfume mixed with her shampoo was familiar and easily swept up her senses for a moment.

Before Margaery pulled back and reached for her glass again, a pleasant flush apparent on her cheeks. Which, admittedly, made Sansa even more curious about what was going on in the brunette’s mind.

Did that happiness have anything to do with _her_? The idea brought those butterflies rushing back to her stomach, even as she told herself it could be any number of things. Or even just the fact that a “long week” was over.

“So,” she started, “That was _my_ good news of the day. What’s got you all…” she trailed off, waving her hand toward the wine glass and then up at the smile on her face.

In response, Margaery ghosted her fingertips over Sansa’s wrist before she reached out to wrap her hand lightly around Sansa’s own, tugging her down the hall toward the kitchen, “It’ll be better if I show you.”

Her eyes focused on the contact and the pleasant rush swam through her from it as she diligently followed, peering around as they went. She didn’t know what to expect or what she was going to find, because Margaery could somehow manage to appear open about herself but then surprising at the same time.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary though. Not to her, anyway. The walls were still a calming green, the beautiful and undoubtedly expensive paintings and artworks strategically placed remained the same.

Margaery slowed down to a stop as they turned into the kitchen and she walked over to her small table. Then she gave Sansa’s hand a squeeze before dropping it as she came to a full stop, peering down at the tabletop before glancing back at Sansa with a quirked eyebrow, a smirk, and that gleam of excitement in her eyes.

Curiosity got the best of her, and she peered over Margaery’s shoulder as she walked closer to the edge of the table. And then came to a stumbling stop, crashing right into Margaery when she was able to actually see what was there.

Darkened blue eyes widened when they landed on what amounted to what must have been over thirty different photographs of Margaery. They were all professionally done, of course, which meant that Margaery was well-dressed – all beautiful, expensive clothing, with nothing that was really revealing, but was enough for someone like an active imagination like Sansa to imagine the possibilities.

In each picture that Sansa managed to take in, eyes darting from each one to the next, Margaery could honest-to-gods be an actual a model. She vaguely thought of the pictures she’d first ever seen of the woman standing in front of her, on the website, which had most likely been selfies, but Margaery still managed to capture the camera completely with her presence.

It didn’t matter if the pictures were professionally done or not, Sansa decided, because with the way Margaery looked coupled with the way she simply _was_ , meant that anyone’s attention was grabbed by her immediately.

“What do you think?” Margaery asked in a tone that was somehow both self-assured and genuinely inquisitive.

Sansa could feel her gaze, waiting for her answer, even as she figured that her thoughts – which really could be summed up by _wow_ – were probably visible on her face. She ran her fingertips above the pictures, not quite touching, as she murmured, “They’re all really… amazing. You’re so beautiful,” she let slip out as she paused over one of the pictures, where Margaery was wearing a fitted suit, her hair up in an intricate bun.

Margaery’s smile was full-blown now, and smug, in an unduly attractive way, and Sansa tore her eyes off of the picture for a moment, so she could roll her eyes. Even with her cheeks heating in a blush because she hadn’t meant for the words to sound so… _reverent_ , she tossed her hair over her shoulder, “Like you don’t _know_ that.”

Her gaze found its way back to the pictures, and she bit her lip, “I don’t just mean, you know, your –” she cut herself off and gestured vaguely to Margaery’s face that could win awards and body that was fit as seven hells, “But I mean – you have this way of showing who you are just by… being. Like, you look here like you have all of the answers,” she pointed at the picture she was just looking at, drawn to it again, “You look like you know everything. Like you’re capable of doing anything.”

She bit her lip, abruptly cutting herself off before she could ramble anymore about her thoughts on Margaery and her many virtues.

Chancing a look at Margaery, she took in the way those big, brown eyes were giving her a soft look, the grin pulling at her lips seemed different than the one she’d been wearing a minute ago. Then she cut her gaze to the photos on the table, a decisive look coming across her features, “That’s honestly exactly what I wanted to hear about these pictures. We have to make the final cuts as to which ones to use in the ad campaign by Monday.”

Dawning came over her, and she felt like a fool, “Oh! These are for the photoshoot you did.”

She turned her attention back to them, the information filtering in as she eyed the pictures. They truly did make Margaery look… like, who _wouldn’t_ want to vote for her? And, as she’d said, not just because of her attractiveness, but because of the vibe she gave off.

“I know that there are still a few months of hard work ahead,” Margaery murmured, “But it’s within reach. I know that it’s _been_ within reach, technically, this whole time. But, with having my team come together, putting together the ad campaign, knowing that the first debate is in less than a month – it’s really happening.”

Sansa turned away from the photos and instead turned to look at Margaery. Who was looking at the photos with that pleased look on her face. She wasn’t quite in disbelief at the campaign and at herself, Sansa knew, because Margaery was more than sure about herself. But she was happy.

There was somehow this way about her that Margaery managed to have, where she was clearly content with the way everything was going, and yet her mind was still working, thinking of what would happen next. There was a speculative expression she was wearing that was unmistakable, and Sansa wondered if she ever wasn’t _thinking_.

It was one of the things she found most interesting about her. 

And even beyond that, the spark of hope that Sansa could see with those words was captivating, and she couldn’t contain a small smile, she offered a heartfelt assurance, “I think it’s _more_ than within reach.”

She wasn’t one to underestimate Cersei Lannister. In fact, she would consider herself one of a small handful of people who truly saw her for what she was. And despite the unsavory facets about Cersei, she would never deny that she would do almost anything to get what she wanted.

Yet, as she looked at Margaery standing in the low light of her kitchen, wearing a form fitting tank top and yoga pants, bare feet with pink painted toenails, and a hopeful determination on her face… Sansa thought it would be an even bigger crime to underestimate her.

“Thank you,” Margaery took herself out of whatever thoughts that had been churning in her mind to look at Sansa from the corner of her eye. Before she turned to face her, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion, “Wait, a second. What were you thinking at first?”

Now feeling confused herself, Sansa frowned, “What?”

“You said a minute ago _oh, these are for your photoshoot_. But you’d already looked at all of the pictures and said that I looked beautiful and capable,” she explained, “So what did you think? That I called you over here just to look at pictures of myself to garner compliments?” her voice dipped into a teasing lilt, causing Sansa to blush.

“No!” she denied, “That’s not – I just, those were my first thoughts when I saw all of the pictures,” she cut herself off when Margaery tilted her head and chuckled, “Stop teasing me.”

Though she still grinned, Margaery acquiesced, “In all seriousness, when I got these proofs before I left work, I texted you because I wanted you to let me know your opinion. You know that I value it. So, in a way, you commenting on the photos without knowing what they were from makes your opinion on them even better. More unbiased. Thank you,” Margaery reached out and slid her hand down Sansa’s in somewhat of a caress.

And she nearly shivered, but managed to stop the remark that had formed on her tongue about the fact that she wasn’t sure she was quite an unbiased source when it came to Margaery, regardless of the circumstance from slipping out.

Instead, she offered a weak shrug in return, as her mind slipped back into that wondering loop. Margaery called her here to look at her pictures; that’s what she said. Which meant that the black underwear was for nothing, right? Because this was a _just friends_ hangout and nothing else?

Then Margaery’s thumb swiped over the back of her hand before letting her go, and Sansa just – she just needed to know. Because what _was_ this? Was this Margaery being flirting-friend Margaery? Or was it – did she want more?

Or maybe she hadn’t even decided. Maybe she’d been so busy, she hadn’t even properly done the thinking that she’d proposed they both do last week.

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Sansa momentarily closed her eyes tightly as if drawing courage. And she willed the words to come out, “Have you thought about it?”

Margaery paused, shifting slightly next to Sansa, and she opened her eyes in time to see Margaery’s eyebrow quirk up in amusement, “It?”

Even though she wanted to cringe at herself and she could feel herself blush, she kept going, “I – yes. _It_ – what I said last week.” Drawing in another deep breath, she continued, “Us. Sleeping together. Um, friends with benefits.”

Gods, now that she’d actually said the words, she regretted them. If only because of the few seconds of silence they caused. But it was too late to turn back now, and she pushed on, “I mean, it’s okay if you haven’t thought of it,” even though, well it would kind of feel like somewhat of an insult when the topic had very much been on Sansa’s mind all week, “And it’s okay if you did think about it and you don’t want to do it,” even though she would be disappointed, “But I just – I need to know. Because I really don’t like _not_ knowing what you’re thinking, and if I just _knew_ , I would know next time whether or not I would have to put special thought into what kind of underwear I was wearing and wonder about every time you touch me if it’s friendly or – more.”

Margaery’s eyebrows rose dramatically at that and _damn it_ Sansa was horrified at herself for letting those words come out. Why did she do this to herself? Why?

And she tried very much to control her heated blush, though she knew her cheeks were probably as red as her hair, as dark, interested eyes slid down her body for a moment before Margaery spoke, her voice quiet and controlled, “I truly did invite you over here tonight for a relaxing night as friends.”

Sansa couldn’t quite control the mortified groan that escaped her. Of course. Of course Margaery hadn’t had any other motives, and of course she _would_ fall into word-vomit that made her want to crawl into a hole. She hardly managed to find her voice enough to croak out, “Oh. Okay. Can we just forget that I said anything for now?”

Margaery’s voice dipped just a bit lower as she swayed closer, and her curiosity was palpable as she asked, “Does that mean _you’ve_ thought about it?”

Blue eyes widened incredulously, “Of course I’ve thought about it! I don’t – that’s not really something I could not think about.”

“And have you come to a conclusion about what you want?” Margaery implored, and Sansa felt a little lightheaded, because she was even closer than before.

Her heart started beating erratically as her gaze flickered down to Margaery’s mouth, “I want you,” she whispered, and for once she didn’t mind the fact that she didn’t seem to have control over what she was saying sometimes when Margaery was around.

Not when her words made Margaery’s breath hitch and a pink tongue wet her lips, before she answered, “As long as you’re sure…” the shorter woman’s eyes searched her own, and once again Sansa thought that Margaery’s mind was so interesting in the way she was constantly thinking, “I’ve thought about it, too,” she admitted, “Probably more than I should have considering how much else that has been on my mind this week.”

She probably shouldn’t be as gratified by that as she was. But considering she’d run herself to distraction thinking about exploring her sexuality with Margaery throughout the week, it was only fair.

And she certainly wasn’t expecting the power-rush it gave her knowing that Margaery Tyrell, who was one of the most gorgeous, intelligent women she’d ever met who could probably sleep with most anyone she wanted, was thinking along the same lines about her all week.

Still, she shook her head lightly, pulling back an inch before she got sucked into this dizzying feeling too much, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because all week long, there had been texts and some phone calls and genera conversations, and even when she’d arrived tonight, Margaery hadn’t had any intention of bringing it up.

A slim shoulder shrugged as Margaery’s gaze, serious and thoughtful, caught hers, “I figured that if you wanted to revisit the topic, you would bring it up again. I didn’t want you to feel like I was… pressuring you.”

“You wouldn’t have been,” she asserted, “I know that I’m inexperienced,” she flushed and her mind quickly flashed through all of the possible ways she could gain experience with the woman in front of her, “But I’m still an adult. And if I don’t want something, I won’t be pressured by you just talking about it. That’s – that’s really important, if we’re going to do this.”

And, gods, she really wanted to do this. Her body was already humming in expectation. Excitement.

Margaery lifted an eyebrow, before she nodded, “You’re right. And, believe me, I know that you don’t have a problem saying something that is on your mind,” the sudden flash of a grin she had made Sansa flush, before she continued, her voice lowering into a murmur, “You show up on my doorstep, wanting to sleep together. You propose us becoming friends with benefits. And once again, you bring it up tonight. I think that underestimating your boldness, Sansa, is one of my biggest mistakes.”

Her suggestive tone was enough to make Sansa’s knees weak, coupled with the way her eyes had locked on to the way Margaery’s fingertips were skating along the edge of the table, coming to a stop just beside Sansa’s thigh. She could feel Margaery’s thumb lightly stroke her there, and her breath left her in a quick exhale.

Before she gave in to the wickedly imploring look Margaery was giving her, Sansa shook her head, and stepped back. She had to get to her jacket.

Ignoring Margaery’s confused – and… perhaps disappointed? – look, she held up a finger to indicate that she would be back in just a minute. The whole walk here, she’d felt sort of foolish for letting Jeyne talk her into this, but now – as arousal was already settling low in her stomach and potentially going to cloud her head soon enough – she was grateful.

It took her only a few seconds to grab the folded piece of paper she’d put in there earlier before she hurried back to the kitchen to find Margaery give her a questioning look. In answer, she unfolded the paper, her hands shaking just a bit from a combination of excitement and nerves and desire and who only knew what else.

“I, um, came up with these rules,” then she grimaced, “Well, they’re more like guidelines. Do you have a pen?”

Even though the brunette was giving her a slightly exasperated look now, she also looked intrigued, “Mhmm, in my bedroom. Follow me.” She turned, only to throw Sansa a heavily-lidded look over her shoulder that made her throat feel dry, “And what do you mean, guidelines?”

That embarrassment came back, just a bit now. Sansa’s fingers toyed with the edge of the paper, folding it minutely before unfolding it again, as she followed Margaery down the hall and explained, “Guidelines like… a few do’s and don’ts that we might want to listen to before we start to do – this.”

Margaery opened the door to her bedroom and walked to the lamp to flick it on, before she grabbed a pen that was resting on her bedside table. She sauntered back to Sansa, “And what kind of _guidelines_ do you already have on there?”

The question was pointless, though, as Sansa smoothed the paper out so that it was resting on the bureau between them, and both of them looked to it.

  1. _Strictly friend hangouts still happen_
  2. _Kissing only happens during times of intimacy, not friend-hangouts_
  3. _We listen to what each other wants and respect boundaries_
  4. _Sleepovers can only happen after intimacy or only as friends, but not both (Margaery can choose which)_



Leaning over slightly, she penned:

  1. _Don’t make assumptions about each other’s wants or needs_



She suddenly felt sort of silly for this list, but… still, “I’m – I just thought it might be a good idea, considering I’ve never done something like this before. And neither have you. So having a solid foundation like this to fall back on seemed like a good idea.”

When she looked at Margaery, she noted the small smirk playing on her lips, though she was wearing a thoughtful expression, “You… are certainly one of a kind. Of course you thought of this.”

Sansa wondered for a moment if that was a bad thing, but Margaery’s gaze was so warm and affectionate, she couldn’t help but enjoy it. And then Margaery took the pen from her, and Sansa knew that the way she slid her fingers along Sansa’s, giving her goosebumps was deliberate.

Then Margaery leaned down and started writing to amend number 4, and Sansa saw that she’d chosen for them to have sleepovers after friends-with-benefits times, not friend-times. Which she supposed made more sense.

“This way, we can make sure that we’re both on the same page about everything afterward. We don’t want any repeats about our… misunderstanding from last week,” her tone was more business-like than Sansa was used to. Firm but agreeable, and she thought for a moment that this was probably how she got things done at work.

She admitted, “That sounds like a good idea.”

And when Margaery started to smirk again as she tapped the pen once against the bureau before laying it down over the list, Sansa narrowed in on it, glancing from the pen to Margaery, “Did you really not have a pen anywhere but in your bedroom?”

Now, that smirk became full-blown, and Margaery shook her head, “Of course not. But you wanted this to be a learning experience, right?”

It was in the nearly predatory glint that was in Margaery’s eyes that had Sansa’s breath catching in her throat, heart starting to speed up. She managed a small nod.

“Consider that the first lesson of tonight. There are many believable, easy ways to get the girl to come back to your bedroom and make everything a little bit easier,” she finished, basically breathing out the words as she moved up onto her tiptoes, and Sansa felt her warm breath on her jaw.

And then she paused, just a breath away, and though Sansa’s eyes had already fluttered closed, she didn’t have to be able to see to know that Margaery was waiting. Giving her this one last moment to be able to back out, to decide that this was not a good idea.

But she didn’t want to back out, and she leaned down, her mouth finding Margaery’s in a millisecond. As soft lips brushed against hers, she felt the answering tingle that she’d felt last weekend, and it was a comfort to know that she hadn’t imagined it.

She felt Margaery’s tongue sweep across her bottom lip, and she responded, letting her in, as her hands came up to tentatively land on Margaery’s hips. And when Margaery let out a quiet hum into her mouth, pressing her body closer to Sansa’s, it was as though all of the sparks that had been growing between them, in every change of tone and every small touch, turned into flame.

One of Margaery’s hands slid into her hair, her thumb rubbing behind Sansa’s ear, and the other landed on her back, and scratched down. It tore a groan that she didn’t even realize was coming from her own throat out of her, arching her back as the feeling shot desire through her body, and land between her legs.

Her back arched and simultaneously, Margaery moved her mouth to Sansa’s neck. Teeth nipped at the spot just below her ear, and blue eyes nearly rolled back in her head as her hands squeezed tightly where they still gripped slim hips. In the back of the blood roaring through her head, she realized that she could feel Margaery’s smirk against her skin, just before she moved down, pressing slow, wet kisses against the column of Sansa’s neck.

And it was that smirk that gave her the presence of mind to wonder for a moment… before she made up her mind because it was too late for hesitation. It didn’t belong here in Margaery’s bedroom with them, not tonight.

Not when she knew that Margaery wanted her just the same way she wanted Margaery. Not when she knew that there was a highly likely chance that Margaery kissing her, touching her, feeling the way their bodies pressed against one another was making Margaery just as wet as it was making her.

So managed a deep breath, tilting her head to the side so that Margaery’s mouth could continue its skillful assault, and she slid one of her hands down and tugged at the hem of Margaery’s tank top. Then she dipped under, running her hand up the smooth skin of her back.

She could feel the way Margaery’s breath hitched against her neck. And when she scratched her fingers down, mirroring what the brunette had just done to her, she reveled in the way Margaery arched tightly against her and in the surprised scrape of her teeth against the base of Sansa’s throat.

And then the hand that was in her hair still tightened and tugged her down, moving her mouth to meet Margaery’s again. Margaery sucked on her bottom lip before she delved in, and Sansa whimpered.

As they kissed, she let her hands roam in a way they hadn’t in the limited past moments that they’d had like this. Her fingertips explored soft skin and then slipped back out from Margaery’s tank top to run up the fabric, and touch her shoulders. Then back down, hesitating for only a moment before she slid down to cup a firmly muscled butt, over her yoga pants.

Her explorative touch made Margaery sigh into her mouth, and she pulled back slowly. Sansa blinked her eyes open to see dark brown ones staring at her. The hunger in them was evident and made Sansa’s blood pulse.

It was only when Margaery licked her now swollen lips, eyes dipping, that Sansa even realized Margaery had somehow unbuttoned her shirt without her even noticing. When her gaze flew back to Margaery’s, wondering, “When…?”

All she got in return was a smirk that somehow turned her on even more, because it should be illegal to be that attractive, Sansa was sure of it.

Then Margaery shrugged, before she winked, “You’ll learn.”

And the flush that she already felt on her cheeks only intensified when Margaery reached up, slowly, sliding her hands along Sansa’s shoulders as she felt her shirt being slowly pushed off. She arched her back slightly to let her shirt fall down her arms more smoothly, feeling a little exposed, as she had last time, to be standing in front of Margaery, topless.

But then she thought of the desire that was evident on Margaery’s face as she took her in, murmuring, “So, you wore this –” she hooked her finger into the lacy cup of Sansa’s bra, “For me?”

Though her brain felt like it was short circuiting again and her breath left her in a rush, she nodded, “I wanted to… look nice,” she murmured, in place of the voice in her head that belonged to Jeyne telling her to _show off_.

“You do,” Margaery assured her, stepping closer so that her tank top rubbed against Sansa’s bare stomach, and she felt goosebumps erupt from the contact, “But, just so you know, you don’t need to wear anything special when we do this.”

Sansa was about to nod again even as she felt slightly dizzy with how hard her heart was pounding from Margaery’s proximity. Because – they were just friends. She wasn’t Margaery’s girlfriend, trying to impress her with matching bra and underwear.

But then Margaery’s hands were on her waist, then scratching around to her back as she pushed onto her tiptoes again to bring her mouth to Sansa’s ear, “Because it’s just going to end up on my floor.”

Seven hells. The choked sound that left Sansa as her words sunk in and her warm breath brushed over her skin was unstoppable.

Then Margaery’s mouth was on her jaw, causing Sansa to shudder. Only for her to realize, moments later, that Margaery had unhooked her bra without her realizing, as well.

It was impressive, and she liked more than anything that Margaery’s fingertips stroked along her shoulders before sliding the fabric off. Because Sansa recognized it for what it was – the chance for her to slow things down.

Only that was the opposite of what she wanted.

As Margaery’s _capable_ hands slid slowly up her sides, before cupping her breasts, Sansa shifted slightly from foot to foot as arousal ran through her. Because she remembered just what Margaery could do to her, and how she could make her feel. The memory of the incredible feeling she got from Margaery’s hands and mouth on her body was more than enough for her to give herself over to it.

But what she wanted more than anything was to be able to make Margaery feel like that.

Her hands came up to grab at Margaery’s wrists just as the brunette’s thumbs brushed over her nipples, and she moaned quietly before biting her lip. Margaery paused instantly, though, her hands going slack in Sansa’s, “Is everything –”

“I want to touch you, this time. I mean – first. I want to touch you, first,” she got out, taking in the way brown eyes widened and Margaery licked her lips.

A shuddering breath was expelled from the older woman, “You’re sure?”

A flash of excitement bolted through her at the fact that she could _see_ how much Margaery wanted this, too, and she hummed, “Yes. I’m positive.” Blue eyes tracked down Margaery’s body and taking in her tank top, before moving back up, and she added a nod, before she released Margaery’s hands.

Which both came back up to pull Sansa’s head down, capturing her mouth again. This kiss was more aggressive than before, and a thrill shot through her at the realization that Margaery and all of her careful control was letting some of that façade crack. That she was showing Sansa the desire underneath.

She brought her hands back to Margaery’s hips, her thumbs brushing under her tank top, as she wondered what would be the best way to take it off of Margaery. Because she didn’t think she could be as smooth as the brunette – no, she knew it.

Gods, she _wanted_ to touch Margaery, to see her naked, finally, after having not been allowed to last week. But she also wanted to be good.

Her thoughts started to get the better of her, and she broke their kiss. Her cheeks colored with embarrassment as she had to clear her throat, “I – I want to make this good for you. I just don’t… I’m not… I don’t want to do anything wrong and you know I’ve never…” she closed her eyes tightly, hating herself.

Before Margaery’s hands slid to cup her jaw lightly, thumbs brushing her cheeks, “Sweetling, take a deep breath for me.”

She complied, and slowly opened her eyes, to find Margaery’s smiling softly back at her as she continued, “And hear me when I tell you that I _know_ you haven’t touched another woman before, and I know it’s nerve-wracking. But that’s why we’re doing this. You truly can’t do anything wrong here, okay? And I’m not going to ask you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

The nerves that had arisen to break through the heavy desire that had settled inside of her quieted slightly, “I want to touch you,” she repeated, “But, can you just – can you tell me what to do?”

“It just so happens,” Margaery spun them, and started walking Sansa backwards until her knees hit her mattress, and she sat down. Margaery ducked her head, brown hair curtaining the two of them, as she leaned in to nip at Sansa’s earlobe, “That I _love_ telling people what to do.”

A strangled laugh started in the back of her throat, because _only Margaery_ , but it fell back down again when Margaery pushed her back lightly and then trailed her fingers down Sansa’s stomach, leaving a tingling path in her wake, to hook her fingertips in the top of Sansa’s leggings, “Take these off,” she requested.

Sansa complied, her heartbeat quickening at the husky tone of Margaery’s voice. Once again, there was that exposed feeling – because she was completely topless, her nipples hard and aching, only in her black underwear that were already wet – as Margaery watched her for a few moments.

But it went away marginally when Margaery hmm’d low in her throat, before bending down again to press her lips to Sansa’s as she ran her fingertips up Sansa’s thighs. She pulled back to whisper, “You’re sexy without even trying, darling. Let that be another lesson for you to keep, all right?”

She nodded… and then she nearly choked when Margaery took a small step back and brought her hands to the bottom of her tank top before pulling it off in one swift motion. She hadn’t been wearing a bra, Sansa realized, dimly, and last week she hadn’t taken off her bra, not to mention she hadn’t really been in an ideal position for a good look.

Now – now, Sansa’s eyes darkened as she took in the sight of Margaery. The way her hips curved into her waist and then back out at her chest. And – _gods_. Her breasts were bigger than Sansa’s, her nipples already hard, and Sansa’s fingers itched to touch in a way she’d never felt before.

When she finally trailed her eyes up to look Margaery in the face, she expected to be embarrassed about her staring, and was surprised when she wasn’t. Maybe it had something to do with the hungry way Margaery was watching Sansa watch _her_ , or the excitement that shined in her eyes.

Then Sansa’s attention was drawn to Margaery’s hands, as they moved into the waist of her yoga pants. And apparently her underwear as well, because in another easy motion, Margaery Tyrell was standing only inches away from her, completely naked.

All of her skin looked so, so soft and smooth, a little less pale than Sansa’s own, and she gulped as she took everything in. But then Margaery’s mouth ascended on hers again, lips melding together hungrily.

This time, she hesitated less than earlier before she lifted her hands from where they rested on the mattress, and she brought them up to stroke along the outside of Margaery’s thighs. Her skin was as soft as she’d thought.

Before her curious hands explored any farther, Margaery broke their kiss to nudge Sansa’s nose with her own as she breathed, “Move back – sit against the headboard.”

She didn’t want to move away from Margaery at all. She wanted to feel her body against her own, to feel those curves and her body heat. But from the look in Margaery’s eyes, she figured that would happen soon.

Anticipation crawled through her as she scooted back to sit where Margaery directed. And she didn’t have to wait before Margaery followed, kneeling on the bed and following Sansa.

Who had never been more turned on in her entire life, excepting maybe the last time she’d been in this bed, than watching Margaery crawl to her, and up her legs, until she was nearly straddling Sansa’s thigh.

Nearly, but not quite. Because Margaery was hovering just over her leg, balanced on her knees still, but Sansa could feel her heat. She could _feel_ Margaery, and that alone stole her breath again as she tilted her head back to look into dark eyes.

Margaery brought her hands up, balancing one on Sansa’s shoulder and the other cupped her jaw, an imploring look in her eyes. There was an unspoken question there, and Sansa shook her head, “I’m good. I’m more than good. Can I…” she bit her lip, and lowered her eyes to focus on Margaery’s clavicle, which was right in front of her, before gathering her courage, “Touch you?”

The smile she got in return was touched with desire and a little bit of exasperation, “Yes, Sansa. I want you to touch me.”

It was all she needed to hear, and it made her feel a little awe because this ridiculously _hot_ woman above her – wanted her. Wanted to be touched by her.

Sansa trailed her hands up Margaery’s legs, fingertips starting where her knees met the bed, before they trailed up her thighs again, feeling her muscles as Margaery shifted slightly. Then she skimmed her hands up over Margaery’s stomach, before scratching lightly down, thinking about the reaction Margaery had when she did it to her back.

This time, Margaery groaned, and Sansa marveled at the way she could see the way her stomach flex. And when she moved her fingers upward, she paused for a moment before she got to the curve of Margaery’s breasts.

But only for a moment, because Margaery was starting to breathe a little heavier, and the hand that had been on Sansa’s shoulder slid down to Sansa’s chest. Her head fell back on a groan when Margaery lightly pinched her nipple, then tugged, and the feeling shot through her.

“Touch me,” Margaery urged, and Sansa’s shaking hands listened.

She traced her finger over the curve that her knuckles had just brushed, and then moved her fingertips in circles, watching as she could _see_ Margaery’s goosebumps in reaction to her touch. She could see the way dusky nipples tightened and she wanted – she wanted –

With a deep breath, she decided to just _do it_ because that’s what had gotten her this far, and Margaery would probably like it. Sansa had loved when Margaery had her mouth on her breasts.

Experimentally, she leaned in and ran her tongue on the same path her finger had taken. And Margaery groaned, louder than Sansa would have thought, her hand tightening in Sansa’s hair, and she’d never felt more emboldened in her entire life. Her mouth moved in a slow, smooth journey before she latched onto one of her nipples, pulling it between her lips.

And the reaction was immediate, Margaery’s hips pushing down against her leg completely. Sansa pulled back on a gasp, because, “You’re so wet,” she breathed out, looking up at Margaery’s face.

Dark eyes had closed as lithe hips grinded down into Sansa’s thigh, and they fluttered open again a few seconds after Sansa had spoken. She arched an eyebrow at the same time that her hips moved in a slow circle, and Sansa’s mouth fell open at how indescribably good it felt. To feel how turned on Margaery was, to know that _she_ caused it.

“I am,” Margaery agreed, her voice so low Sansa hardly heard it, “You know,” she started, before pausing to take Sansa’s hand in hers and guiding it back to her chest. She took Sansa’s hand and mimicked the way she’d touched Sansa’s chest. Sansa quickly did it herself, though, and she relished in the way Margaery’s head fell back on a moan, before she kept talking, “Last week, you thought I didn’t want you. But I was so close –” she broke off and started a new rhythm with her hips.

Sansa could feel her clit dragging over her thigh and she experimentally shifted up into Margaery. And was rewarded with Margaery’s breath hitching, and Sansa wasn’t even sure she would remember how to talk because she knew for a fact now that she’d never been more turned on in her life than at this moment.

But Margaery let out a shuddering breath and continued, “I was so close, and I was moving like this, against you, as I made you come. You have no idea how close I was to coming just like this,” her breath ghosted over Sansa’s mouth as she finished, “It won’t take me long tonight.”

She leaned her head a fraction back from where she’d been watching the way Margaery’s hips rolled, and met Margaery’s eyes. The look she was giving her was heavily lidded, and her hand threaded through Sansa’s hair as she leaned in, tracing over Sansa’s ear with her tongue and making her shiver, before murmuring, “Put your hand between my legs.”

It was Sansa’s turn to moan now, she slowly slid her hand down. She stroked her fingers over the top of Margaery, just above her clit, and felt her shudder. Then she lifted her hips just a bit, and Sansa hesitated, moving her head back to make eye contact with Margaery again.

Who gave her a patient smile, despite the need that was evident on her features, before she reached down and met Sansa’s hand with her own. Margaery whispered, “Two fingers,” and Sansa quickly obliged.

And then Margaery shifted over her again and Sansa’s fingers were engulfed in wet heat. They both groaned, and held still for a beat.

Then Margaery’s hand held onto Sansa’s shoulder as her forehead fell onto Sansa’s, eyes staring into hers. She moved her hand as best as she thought she should as Margaery moved over her.

She didn’t think she’d ever heard a better sound than the whimpers that left Margaery’s throat, though, and she felt conflicted because she wanted to kiss her, but didn’t want her to stop making those amazing sounds. It was solved for her when Margaery’s eyes went bleary and snapped shut, as she tilted her head and moved in for a kiss, as she sped up her hips.

Working her tongue into Margaery’s mouth and her fingers into her heat, Sansa didn’t know if she’d ever felt better in her entire life.

Which, then she shifted her hand so that her palm bumped against Margaery’s clit and their kiss was broken because of the strangled cry working out of Margaery’s throat, so _yes_ , that was even better.

“Seven hells – _yes_ , Sansa, keep doing that,” Margaery urged her breathlessly.

She maneuvered her hand so that she could rub Margaery’s clit every time she thrust her hips down, rewarded by the volume of the sounds that started to come from her, and how every breath she started to take in was more ragged than the last.

Around her fingers, she could feel Margaery tightening and it was… she wanted to keep doing this. She wanted to feel this, to make Margaery do this. And it was with that thought that she used her thigh to push up her hand as Margaery moved down.

Immediately, a choked cry broke from Margaery and the hand the brunette had braced on her shoulder tightened in a vice grip. She was coming, hard, even more wetness coating her fingers and she rubbed slowly, the way she would to herself.

Which seemed to be the right thing to do, as Margaery let out a long, shuddering moan and slowly worked her hips with Sansa’s hand as she came down.

Sansa’s own heart was thundering in her ears in tandem with the way she could feel Margaery’s beating as her body slumped against Sansa’s. They stayed there for a few long moments, with Margaery’s forehead having fallen onto Sansa’s shoulder, and when Sansa got over her dazedness, she had the peace of mind to reach up with the hand that wasn’t currently still between Margaery’s legs to gently rub at her back.

Which made Margaery give a weak chuckle that only lasted for a second before she husked out, “Mmm, scoot so we can lay down.”

Sansa bit her lip before she slowly adjusted her thigh so that she could move her hand away from Margaery, who let out a small sigh at the feeling. Then she did as Margaery wanted, scooting down on the bed enough so that she could lie back. And then Margaery rolled off of her and onto her back.

Sansa missed the warmth, but then moved up onto her side, leaning on her elbow so she could look down at Margaery. Who was laying on the bed with one arm flung over her head and a pleased, calm look on her face, brown hair a tumble of curls all over her pillow, and Sansa felt a disbelieving giggle work its way out of her throat.

She didn’t even try to stop when Margaery’s eyes opened – still a little hazy – and she asked, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s, um, nothing,” she shook her head, the hair that had fallen over her shoulder moving over the sheets with the movement.

But… she’d realized as she took in Margaery’s dreamy, relaxed face and even the way her voice was just a little slower, a little more lethargic, that she did it. She’d not only found out how to make Margaery’s magnificent brain shut off, but she’d caused it.

Sansa had never felt particularly confident in areas that involved sex; it just never felt quite right. But at that moment, as she was in Margaery’s luxuriously comfortable sheets, settled on her side, with one hand still resting on Margaery’s leanly muscled thigh and wearing only a pair of lacy black underwear that were now ridiculously wet… she felt relaxed enough to smile and not even want to hide at the way Margaery’s eyes dipped to her chest as she laughed.

There really was a first time for everything, she supposed.

Her quiet laughter fell away when the cloudiness that had settled in Margaery’s eyes with her orgasm fell away and instead big, brown eyes flickered from her chest and then caught onto Sansa’s, darkened with arousal.

And then her breath caught in an excited gasp when Margaery’s hand came up and her fingers scratched lightly over Sansa’s hip, before settling there and pushing as she herself rolled. Wide blue eyes stared up at Margaery in anticipation as she found herself on her back, Margaery over her, desire so very obvious in the way she stroked her hand along Sansa’s side.

There were very exciting times for everything, she realized as that skillful hand slid down, and she was looking forward to all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot even begin to apologize for how long this chapter took to write. I'll give you the myriad of reasons: the (US) election that sapped me of all creative drive and energy, my end of semester finals, and then the holidays, as well as offering: I'm sorry for how crazy long the gap was. I sincerely hope to never have that happen again. 
> 
> But thank you so much for sticking with my story. I can promise that the story will without a doubt continue to be written until it's finished :) Thanks for reading! And I would love to hear all of your thoughts and feedback, if you wouldn't mind.


	14. New Developments

Margaery stared intently at her computer screen, eyes narrowed in thought, as she watched Cersei’s interview on _Rise and Shine King’s Landing_ from that morning’s show for approximately the fifth time.

She’d figured that something like this was coming; her own ad campaign had started with a bang last week, she’d already done two interviews with reporters. Cersei Lannister was many things but she certainly wasn’t one to sit back while Margaery started to surge ahead. She’d _known_ that, of course, so this wasn’t shocking.

So, no, she hadn’t been caught off guard, but Cersei had made her first strike. Which meant that it was important to be vigilant now even more than before. Even though her eyes were burning just a little bit from focusing so intently on the computer, she couldn’t stop herself from watching as she tapped her pen against a pad of paper.

Where she’d been writing down notes on everything she’d noticed. Notes about what Cersei said, how she said it, the tone, which words were used – which words _weren’t_. Notes about her body language, her clothes, how long her smiles lasted for. Everything she could, so that when she went to the emergency meeting she’d called with her team tomorrow, they could talk about all of these details.

The day had started out normal; she’d come into work a little earlier than eight in the morning, and the interview hadn’t aired until after nine. She’d already been entrenched in her work day and was in the middle of reading through a large proposal from a food bank when the surprise interview had aired.

She’d watched it, her mind torn between doing the work that she had to finish and wanting to inspect every detail of the interview.

Even as she’d gotten the rest of her work done throughout the day, it had inevitably been on her mind. Enough so that she’d re-watched it again at lunch, which was when she’d first started taking notes.

In the past two weeks, her work days had become even longer than they already had been – which was saying something in and of itself. She’d had more meetings with her campaign team, done another interview, arranged for a spot on a talk show for next week, and had re-organized the program that she’d created during her first year in the Department for the People that worked outreach through the holidays in local group homes – to name a handful of things.

That alone had insured that she was working longer hours than what was in a “typical” work day, and usually she was the last person in the office. Which held true today, too, but now… she just couldn’t stop playing the interview. And it was well after hours.

It wasn’t like anything was explicitly or obviously out of place; Cersei was nicely dressed, her hair and makeup done well, as was typical. She smiled when she should smile, granted Margaery could see the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth fakeness even through her computer. She looked… as sympathetic as Margaery thought she was capable of looking when they spoke of her deceased husband. She was well spoken, though not as well-spoken as Margaery thought of herself.

She talked somewhat about her “platform” though the issues she was tackling were of less immediate value and importance than what Margaery was taking a stance on.

All of the points lined up to where Margaery could have predicted they would – except for one.

Her.

When it came to the topic of Margaery herself, Cersei was much less… heavy-handed in her insults than expected. Of course there were some barbed remarks concerning her youth relative to “inexperience”, her grandmother’s current status as a means of favoritism, a small comment about her photoshoot, and they were all decently innocent, nothing especially nasty. And, beyond that there was nothing.

If it had been an interview done by someone else – nearly any other opponent, really – that wouldn’t have been concerning. That would have aligned exactly where she might have expected.

However, if Margaery knew anything about Cersei Lannister, it was that she most definitely was not in the business of pulling any punches when it came to getting what she wanted. And so, that wouldn’t stop gnawing at the back of her mind; something else was happening or was in the works, she was sure of it.

But campaigns couldn’t be run based on intuitive feelings, as her grandmother would tell her. And even though she knew it was getting a little late and that she _should_ leave – try to rest and relax as much as she could – except, her brain just wouldn’t stop.

Blowing out a sigh, Margaery shook her head and brought her hands up, rubbing them over her face and then scooping them back through her hair. She knew she wasn’t _missing_ anything. Couldn’t be. Still there was –

The multiple vibrations of her phone pulled her away from her thoughts, and quickly she reached for it. She’d contacted Desmond a few hours ago about her niggling feeling, and despite the fact that he’d answered only to say they would discuss it in person tomorrow, she couldn’t help but think maybe he found something already.

It took her a moment in all of her anticipation of news about Cersei’s campaign to realize that the texts weren’t, in fact, from Desmond or anyone else on her staff, but Sansa.

**_Sansa – 8:13PM_**  
_Hey! I just had dinner and watched Cersei’s_  
_interview with a friend…_

_**Sansa – 8:14PM**_  
_How are you feeling about it? I know you_  
_said earlier that you needed to think about it_  
_before figuring out what you thought._

At that, a small smile tugged at her mouth, because of course Sansa thought about that. Her phone had gone off like crazy right after her family and friends had gotten wind of the interview. And though she had only answered a select few, her team and her immediate family included, she’d also responded to Sansa.

Sansa, who unlike the texts that she’d received from everyone, asking about all aspects of the interview itself – with a few teasing ones from Loras – first and foremost asked how she was feeling. Because… of course she did. But at the time, Margaery hadn’t had any time to process.

And of course she’d made the correct presumption that Margaery had watched the interview a lot since that morning.

_**Sansa – 8:14PM**_  
_I was thinking you could come over when you_  
_left the office and we could talk about it and_  
_watch a movie._

_**Sansa – 8:15PM**_  
_Just, you know, because we haven’t hung out_  
_“as friends” as much lately. But it’s okay if the_  
_interview has you too busy!_

Sansa was right; they hadn’t hung out “as friends” very much since they’d agreed to be friends with benefits. Even though it was _Rule Number 1_ , it had been somewhat neglected. Granted, with everything going on – not only with Margaery’s own schedule but with Sansa’s end of semester coming up – they’d only seen each other three times in the last two weeks.

And every time had been about sex, or, at the very least, involving sex.

Margaery wouldn’t – couldn’t – complain about that, either. It would be impossible to, because sex with Sansa… every single time was enlightening.

She’d gotten to know the way Sansa’s thighs trembled and tightened around her head when she was about to come. When she could _feel_ that Sansa was trying to still hold on to control, but couldn’t. She’d become intimately familiar with the breathy sounds that escaped from the back of Sansa’s throat when she was _just_ about to let go. She’d learned several of the spots that made Sansa go weak, the spots that made her hips jerk against Margaery’s with want.

She knew what it was to take Sansa slowly, to walk her through what she was doing. To tease – just a little. She’d fucked her a little faster still – though not _as_ hard and fast as she’d thought of in some of her more wanting thoughts.

They’d only had three nights together since they’d made their agreement, and even though Margaery had felt in the past that one night was enough with someone, she had no idea about the thrill it caused her to learn all of these new things. To fantasize about the same person in all different positions; the way she found herself thinking about Sansa.

She’d never had this wanting, this craving, even after already having a woman. It was… heady.

And while all of that aspect was new for her, the entire sleeping with women aspect was new to Sansa. Who was more an eager and excited to try new things, to explore Margaery’s body. Her touches were both hesitant and bold. Curious and intuitive. She was _so_ open for Margaery to tell her exactly what she wanted and what she needed. How and when and where she wanted Sansa fingers and mouth, and the younger girl was so ridiculously receptive.

Even though it had only been a few times that Sansa had touched her, she was quite the fast learner and somewhat of a perfectionist – both of which were things that Margaery had known. They’d been charming traits when Sansa was just her friend, but introducing that into a sex life was –

Amazing.

And there was still so much Sansa had yet to experience, that the thought of it all made Margaery’s stomach dip in anticipation.

Brown eyes blinked down at the messages before she leaned back in her chair. And after a second, she realized that the heaviness weighing on her shoulders that had been there all day had somewhat melted away, replaced instead with thoughts of Sansa.

The fact that there was an actual want inside of her to go see Sansa and to give her mind a break from re-watching the interview yet again, let alone to talk about it with someone who didn’t look at things the way she knew her team tomorrow would, confirmed that having Sansa as a friend – in both benefits and non-benefits capacity – was something she didn’t think she’d ever experienced before with anyone else. And she… enjoyed it.

_**Margaery – 8:18PM**_  
_That sounds perfect. My head needs a break_  
_from watching this too much. Maybe a fresh_  
_point of view will give me a better focus._

She put her phone down on the desk before drumming her fingers for a moment, her eyes skipping back up to land once more on Cersei’s face on the screen. They narrowed for a moment, her face pinching in annoyance once again because – _what was it_?

A few moments beat by before she _hmm_ ’d under her breath, slowly closing out of the internet browser as she shook her hair back over her shoulders. What she thought bothered her the most about Cersei’s interview, if she had to put it into words, was that there was something so obviously _not_ going on, that it made her positive that Cersei was up to something.

And she knew that sounded ludicrous, but she just… knew that it was also the truth.

As she let out a deep breath, she shrugged her shoulders before shutting down her computer totally, and reaching into her desk to get her purse before locking the drawer. It was fruitless to let her mind run around in circles even more when she had no new information and no new eyes on the situation.

She stood, slipping into her jacket. First, the lighter one that she’d originally grabbed out of her coat closet – a dark blue one that went seamlessly over her dress, running just a bit longer than her others typically did, but it actually really worked for her. More for style than for weather protection. And then, she rolled her eyes as she reached for the heavier coat that she’d worn on top of the first when she’d realized exactly how cold it was.

The coldest day of the year so far in King’s Landing, and Margaery was remarkably _not_ enjoying it; she never did. The temperatures, no matter how much Sansa had come to tease her and tell her it was “mild compared to _true_ cold” had officially reached Margaery’s least favorite time of the year.

Though there was a lot she actually did enjoy about King’s Landing, even when compared to the Reach, her home would _always_ win when it came to weather. The Reach – Highgarden in particular – was so incredibly beautiful, but beyond that… even in the winter it didn’t get as cold as it did here in the capital. Or _nearly_ as dreary. And even in the summer, for that matter, it wasn’t uncomfortably hot. Rather, it was comfortable. Balmy, warm-but-not-too-warm days, unlike the humidity that reigned here in the summer.

It wasn’t until the backs of her fingers brushed up against the lighter jacket as she zipped up the heavier one that she froze as the realization hit her: this was Sansa’s jacket. The one that Sansa had left at her home in a hurry after they’d first had sex, a little over a month ago, now.

She’d had it in her mind to return it. Well… initially, she’d had it in her mind to return it – after holding onto it for a week or so to insure that Sansa would talk to her. But they were doing far more than talking, for several weeks now, and this jacket had somehow seamlessly blended into her wardrobe with her own.

Which was actually a little strange, if she thought about the fact that for so long, her entire life really, everything that was in her space was _hers_. There’d never been someone to have any mix-ups with.

And for a moment, she paused as she wondered about the possible implications about this. About wearing another woman’s clothes, about another woman’s clothes blending with her own.

But it only lasted for a moment, before she shook her head slightly, brown curls falling over her shoulders. Because all it meant was that Sansa was… Sansa. Her friend, the closest one she’d ever had, and that entailed things that Margaery just wasn’t used to.

Which apparently meant that one of said bonuses was stylish items unwittingly added to her wardrobe. She could get used to that part.

“No wonder I’ve only seen you twice in the last few weeks; you’re apparently turning into a mole-woman who sleeps at work,” Loras’s voice appeared next to her, and she turned sharply as her stomach jumped and eyes widened in surprise.

Her brother was dressed similarly in his own heavy winter jacket, though his was also joined with a hat that made her immediate smile grow even wider, fondness rushing through her. She _hadn’t_ seen her brother that much lately, and texting wasn’t the same.

Still, she rolled her eyes mockingly, “Sure, blame _me_ , and not the fact that you’ve been working the night shift and sleeping during the day.”

His golden eyes sparkled back at her in mirth as he walked closer, wrapping her in a quick, warm hug, “I’ve worked the night beat before and we’ve had time before. But suddenly my sister is becoming a big-shot, and I have to rely on my boyfriend for updates.”

“Drama queen,” she shot back as she shook her head, unable to wipe the smile from her face, as she reached for her purse that was still settled on her desk. “I hope you didn’t come to try to kidnap me for drinks, though. I have plans tonight.”

Even though they _had_ seen each other a little bit, the last time she’d seen Loras, he’d tried very hard to convince her to go out for a night of drinking with him. And even though Margaery had always been conscious of drinking out in public, she’d never completely shut her brother down for a bit of fun out on the town; she wasn’t a robot, after all.

As she’d had to explain to her pouting brother last week, though, a campaigning Margaery was a Margaery who was too busy for a night out. Especially when she needed to be even more conscious of where she was seen out in public and of what she was doing.

Loras eyed her phone with interest, eyes still alight with amusement, “Oh, so you’re _too busy_ to spend a night out with your only brother –”

“I wonder how Willas and Garlan feel about being cut out from our family tree,” she cut him off, tapping her finger to her chin, deadpanning.

He exaggeratedly waved her off, “You didn’t let me finish – only brother who lives near you. I should have said closest brother in retrospect. Either way, you’re working such long hours that you barely had enough time to have dinner with me the other night, but you’re going to see Sansa tonight… interesting,” he mused, his voice lofty.

Margaery tilted her head, lifting her eyebrow in a challenge. Despite the knowing feeling already settling in her stomach, she asked, “And your point is?”

Her brother let out a dramatically aghast breath, pointing his finger at her in triumph, “I just want you to _admit_ that she’s your girlfriend! There’s no shame, Marg.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, scoffing as she reached up to bat his accusing finger away, “Honestly, Loras, you’re acting like _you’ve_ never had a friends with benefits situation before. There’s no girlfriend to speak of.”

From over his shoulder, she saw Renly approaching after locking the door to his office, and she shot him a quick grin, though colored in the exasperation she was feeling for her brother.

The appearance of his boyfriend didn’t deter Loras, however.

“No girlfriend? _No girlfriend_? But – about this tall,” he held his hand up, waving it right under his own eye level, “Long red hair? Blue eyes? You’ve been having sex with her regularly, have an emotional attachment –”

Her mouth fell open in indignation, “ _Friends_ with _benefits_! Everything you just said is right there!”

“Yeah, friends with benefits is one thing. But one that’s exclusive, with sleepovers… it’s pushing the line,” he kept his voice light and teasing but there was an underlying seriousness that she couldn’t help but notice and it put her just the littlest bit on edge, “Sounds like a girlfriend to me. What do you think, Renly?”

Loras turned teasing, interested eyes to his boyfriend, who shot him a look, even though there was adoration in it, too. Because he was all too used to Loras’s dramatics – and he loved them. Still, he looked at Margaery, then back, lifting his hands palms up to both of them, “I abstain.”

Before her brother could continue – because he would and Margaery just… she didn’t want to hear it. She loved her brother, more than almost anyone in the world, but sometimes he got the wrong idea and would run with it until it was six feet into the ground. Which he was especially doing with Sansa, now. It was simply incorrect and not what she wanted to have on her mind when she was going to visit her _friend_ –

Margaery elbowed him in the ribs, chuckling at the way he yelped much the way he did when they were younger and she pulled the same move, as she changed the subject, “What are you two doing here?”

Now it was Renly who answered, his eyebrow arching high, “No, the correct question is what are _you_ doing here? You told me when I left almost two hours ago that you were leaving soon!”

She’d told him that in order to gently break him off from the concerned speech he’d been giving her about spending too much time working, too much time at the office in the last few weeks. She appreciated his concern, of course, and it made her glad that she had found such a good friend in him.

But… she also couldn’t leave so early.

Instead, she gestured to the coat she’d just zippered and the purse on her other arm, “And I’m leaving now. Just… finishing some stuff up.”

“Watching that interview again, more like it,” Loras interjected in a conspiratorial whisper.

She didn’t have any shame in that, however, and acknowledged it with a nod and a shrug, “And took copious notes. But what about you? I didn’t disrupt some sort of afterhours office rendezvous, did I?” she gave them a wink, chuckling at the flush on her friend’s face and the glare he sent her.

“One time,” her mumbled, shaking his head.

But Loras only grinned widely, wrapping an arm around Renly’s shoulders as they all started walking out of the office, “Nah, not tonight. Renly here forgot his wallet in his office, though,” he ribbed, “How is my sugar daddy supposed to buy me dinner without his wallet?”

Margaery chuckled, enjoying them, even as Renly added, “I think that someone here is forgetting who has a trust fund.”

“Please, like you’d ever allow yourself to be a kept man,” she added before she took a deep breath and burrowed slightly more into her warm jacket before she prepared for the cold weather outside that was about to hit when they opened the doors.

Renly turned his incredulous look to her, “Oh, and you would ever allow yourself to be a kept woman?”

The term alone made her grimace; so far from the future she’d thought for herself, “You have a point.”

But Loras _tsk_ ’d at both of them, “Oh, says the workaholic who’s finally taking a break to go see her woman who has marriage and family written all over her homemade baked goods.”

It was pointless to argue again, even as she sighed loudly to make her displeasure known. Then again, that description did fit Sansa, Margaery could acknowledge. It… really did. It simply didn’t fit _them_.

Her brother, thankfully, let it drop, though. It might have had something to do with the fact that they were about to go in the opposite direction that she took to Sansa’s in order to head to the parking garage and Loras’s car, “Speaking of homemade cooking, though, can I get you to leave the office in time for dinner with me this week?”

A smile made its way onto her mouth as she nodded, “Even if I have to bring it to your squad car after I leave work.” She didn’t lift her hands from their buried position in her pockets for warmth to offer a wave, but gave quick kisses to their cheeks, “Have a nice dinner.”

“You, too,” Loras shot back, wiggling his eyebrows and this time she couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as she turned away, shaking her head.

She didn’t bother correcting him – because tonight wasn’t about _that_ – but it was better to leave it on that note than his girlfriend assertions. His completely off-base assertions, which… were laughable, when she thought about it. Which she did, as she walked briskly toward Sansa’s apartment building.

Given that it had been Loras himself who had been the first person to tell her all about how great sleeping with his friend but having no strings attached was, back in high school. Loras, who had more _friends with benefits_ relationships than Margaery had friends, period.

It didn’t have to mean anything that she was attracted to her close friend, that she was having sex – great sex – with said friend, that she looked forward to seeing her not only just for sex but also for nights like tonight, where she was going to tell Sansa about her day – about the interview. Looking forward to hearing what Sansa had to say about it. Looking forward to possibly watching one of her movies about typically tragic female figures in history, and having Sansa give her those big sad blue eyes at the end while she teased her about it.

It was perhaps unfamiliar to her, but it only meant something it she had intentions to let it mean something. If she had intentions of letting her endearment of Sansa and appreciation of their friendship develop farther, that would mean _something_ more.

However, as it was… Margaery was enjoying this. Enjoying the time they spent together, that she had someone who cared about her, who she cared about, but who she wasn’t beholden to beyond the bounds of friendship.

With that in mind, she stepped into the building Sansa lived in, in a better mood that she’d been in throughout most of the day despite Cersei’s interview still clinging in the back of her mind.

She slipped her hands out of her pockets, ridiculously thankful to be out of the cold air again, as she unzipped her heavier winter coat and made her way down the hallway and toward the elevator, walking a bit slowly to take in the décor of the building.

She’d only been there that one time, the time that Sansa had proposed this whole situation for them to be together. It was easier for them to meet at her apartment – she didn’t have a roommate, for one, let alone a roommate who still harbored a dislike for her.

But she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to being in Sansa’s apartment again, this time having more time to take in all of the personal details that she might have missed the last time.

As the elevator doors opened, she moved to step in, lifting her head to give a polite nod-and-smile to the woman walking out of them.

However, when she got the same polite-stranger smile back and made eye contact, she paused. Eyes narrowing slightly as they trained on the face smiling back at her. Because that face… was picking at somewhere in her mind. She _recognized_ that face, from somewhere.

Margaery rarely ever forgot a face; it was somewhat of a gift, given her chosen profession. She had a knack for remembering everyone from that one time she’d met all six children of one of the advisors in the Stormlands or remembering the sister-in-law of the Warden of the Riverlands, the cousin of her grandmother’s chief of staff. It was entirely rare for Margaery not to be able to recall someone she’d met, even if it had only been briefly.

And this woman – young, with olive toned skin and rich dark eyes – was attractive; someone she was fairly certain she would remember meeting. So, she deduced, that maybe she hadn’t actually met. But if they hadn’t met in person, Margaery knew she’d seen her somewhere. There was something about her, nagging at Margaery’s mind.

Nagging enough in the back of her mind that she couldn’t let it go, and she let the elevator doors closed without getting in.

Apparently, the feeling was mutual, given that the woman was tilting her head to the side in a speculative look that made Margaery straighten her spine and set her jaw. It was a look that she didn’t like at all; she couldn’t quite place it immediately, but whatever it was about this woman made the faintest distaste run up the back of her throat.

That feeling only intensified when those dark eyes took on a glint, an accompanying smirk sliding over her face, as she looked Margaery up and down, “ _Oh_.”

It was enough to set honeyed brown eyes into a small glare that she’d been told by many people made them want to cower. She detested this feeling, like someone knew something she didn’t, like she had already lost the upper hand without even really knowing what the upper hand was in the situation. It didn’t happen often, and that was with good reason.

However, it was that irritating smirk that gave her what she needed to place the face. This was the face of the woman that she’d seen only through Sansa’s phone. The girl who had sought Sansa out on social media, who had given Sansa her number, at speed dating. The girl who Margaery likened to somewhat of a vulture, seeking out pretty girls who seemed out of their element.

_Elia Sand_ , gods that name seemed burned into her brain now.

Elia Sand, who now ran her eyes over Margaery’s – Sansa’s – jacket, and lifted a knowing eyebrow. Of course, because Sansa had been wearing this very jacket that night that she’d gone to that speed dating event. The thought of it made her clench her jaw for a moment, before she very deliberately released it.

“Coming to see our friend Sansa?” Elia positively drawled out, and Margaery could not stand the excitement in her tone.

She allowed a slow smile to slide onto her face, knowing it was sharp and a bit feral, but not nearly as much as she could have let it be. Just enough, because the way she placed an emphasis on _our friend_ gave Margaery the worst feeling in her stomach. As if Sansa was her _friend_ in the same way she was Margaery’s, which…

Sansa was a great friend. She’d seen that with Jeyne, and a bit with her friend Mya in the very limited time she’d met the other woman. But they didn’t give her this feeling that – that she didn’t want to name, but she didn’t enjoy it.

Instead, she hummed in confirmation, “Yes, a visit to see my friend, Sansa,” she found it necessary to repeat, before feigning ignorance, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Elia. Elia Sand,” she didn’t offer her hand, for which Margaery was grateful because niceties demanded she would have to shake it, but she had no desire to. She tilted her head to the side, though, appraising Margaery for a few moments before her smirk widened into a delighted smile, “I’ve seen your ads, Miss Tyrell. Very impressive; I’ll be voting for you.”

Those were words that _should_ have felt like a compliment. She _should_ be flattered and thrilled that her name was getting out there, that she was gaining voters. It _should_ have felt like an opening, to discuss her campaign or at the very least to thank her, sincerely.

Since she’d announced her campaign for the small council, that’s exactly the response that comments like that she’d received so far had inspired.

Instead of the other times she’d heard similar words, this time they felt loaded. Loaded, because _Elia_ must have been the friend Sansa had mentioned in her text that she’d Cersei’s interview with, because apparently they’d been hanging out. And in a ludicrous feeling that Margaery didn’t enjoy in the least, she suddenly wished that she’d been the one to watch the interview with Sansa. It made sense, she rationalized, given the fact that the interview was so relevant to her life.

Still, she quirked an eyebrow, “Thank you. Do you have an interest in politics, then?”

Elia shrugged, that damnable easygoing smile staying secure on her face, “Not really, actually. But I have a friend or two who are interested, so I keep current.”

Yes, Margaery would just bet that she had _a friend_ who was interested in politics. A friend who lived in this very building, who had told Margaery that the only reason she had such a vested interest in this current election was because _Margaery_ was running.

It was something that shouldn’t matter at all, but at this moment, faced with Elia Sand, it did.

Because even if Sansa was wonderfully and beautifully naïve about some things, including her own charm, Margaery certainly wasn’t. And she’d pegged Elia’s interest even before she’d had this face-to-face with her.

“I’m glad you have some _friends_ who are so current, then – it’s good for me and my business. I hope it makes you feel better knowing that you’re giving your vote to a candidate who truly cares about invested constituents,” she lifted her eyebrow, and hoped that her meaning was clear. Her meaning that Sansa was her business, and that should any such vulture come sniffing around, Margaery – who was more experienced and was even more protective than she’d even thought she would be – would be there.

If anything, though, it didn’t make Elia falter, and that in and of itself set Margaery on edge even more, “Oh, I do feel better about that, believe me. I also find myself invested in some of your constituents.” She quirked her eyebrow, “Speaking of, Sansa’s waiting for you upstairs, and I’m running a little late. Got a little caught up hanging out upstairs; you know how that can be. Lose track of time and all.”

The heavy, powerful, dark feeling that sluiced through her and settled thickly in the pit of her stomach was unmistakable as jealousy. Despite the fact that her brushes with the feeling in terms of her personal life were fairly limited, she would be ignorant to let herself believe anything else.

She shook her head, though, refusing to focus on it as she made sure the smile remained on her face, as unstrained as it could be. Silently, she thanked all of the gods for her ability to maintain composure in any situation, “Absolutely, I don’t want to make you run late, nor do I want to keep Sansa waiting. Have a good night.”

“Oh, you too,” Elia shot back, before she glided by Margaery, who watched her for a moment with narrowed eyes, before jamming her finger at the elevator button again, unintentionally a little too hard.

The ride up and walk down Sansa’s hallway was altogether too fast as her mind processed this… this uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling. It wasn’t as though she had the right to tell Sansa who to talk to or be friends with – or even that she wanted to! Sansa was a grown woman, a grown, intelligent woman who had her own agency and her own decisions to make.

But – Elia. Margaery couldn’t shake that nagging feeling that Elia wanted Sansa the exact same way she did. And, well, who wouldn’t? Sansa was gorgeous, smart, and inspired feelings of endearment and affection effortlessly.

As she pursed her lips in thought, she gave a brisk knock on the door. Elia Sand, regardless of how much Margaery inherently didn’t trust or like her, wasn’t the problem here. Other people – women, now that Sansa was exploring her sexuality – were always going to find Sansa attractive or want to be with her. That was fine; great.

The problem was that Margaery didn’t enjoy this feeling, not just the jealousy but the little part of her brain that wondered –

Her thoughts cut off as the door swung open, and she was facing the woman in question. The woman who was wearing jeans with one of the long, comfortable sweaters Margaery had come to learn Sansa favored in the winter. She had a plethora of them, in different colors and styles, and the last time Margaery had seen her, Sansa explained that she had enough sweaters from living in the North that she could fill multiple of the smaller sized closet she had in her room in this apartment.

She was wearing bright yellow socks and the sight of them made Margaery’s mood inexplicably brighten, just a bit, before she tracked her eyes back up Sansa’s body. All of her long, auburn hair was tossed into a quick and messy bun, some strands falling out, but it was the brilliant smile that slid across Sansa’s face – bright and instant – that warmed Margaery right down to her toes.

“Hey! Come in,” Sansa quickly stepped back, as she took in Margaery’s form, blue eyes sparkling in amusement that Margaery couldn’t overlook even despite that feeling in her stomach that was like a lead weight, “Two coats, lightweight?”

Still, the smile on her face wasn’t forced like it had been earlier, with Elia because she couldn’t resist the urge of genuine fondness that she felt with Sansa, “Funny,” she allowed, teasingly.

Sansa’s laugh was light as she turned on her socked heel and started walking down the hall, leading their way into the kitchen, “So, I made a pot roast for dinner a little bit ago; I have some leftovers. Jeyne’s working late tonight, so there’s some for her, but there’s more than enough for you? It’s good to warm you up,” she added earnestly.

And that was… so sweet, honestly. Margaery registered that as she shut the door behind her and followed Sansa into the kitchen. She took in the slow sway of Sansa’s hips as she made her way into the kitchen, her eyes watching just a moment too long for their _just friends_ theme tonight.

Sansa had made dinner for herself and Elia, most likely. She hummed at the idea, her darker thoughts prodded by that – that feeling from only minutes ago, downstairs with Elia returning, “Maybe in a little while; I’m not feeling too hungry right now, darling.”

She had been hungry earlier, she realized with a bit of surprise. She’d been hungry even while she’d been entrenched in watching Cersei’s interview. Even when she’d been in her earlier thoughtful and suspicious mood, she would have gratefully taken any of the delicious food she’d come to experience with Sansa.

But that run-in with Elia was enough to take away her appetite.

Sansa’s eyebrows drew together as she turned to give Margaery a concerned look, “Really? I assumed you hadn’t eaten since lunch. Are – the interview,” she surmised, shaking her head at herself, “Such an idiot. I’m sorry.”

Margaery would have laughed if she felt like delving into detail what was going on in her mind. If she thought she could – or _should_ – explain to Sansa what she was feeling.

Then again, that was one of the things Sansa had said to her in the past. That she didn’t want Margaery to hide her thoughts, so… with a deep breath, she unzipped both of her jackets, her fingers moving slowly as she spoke slowly. Deliberately. “I ran into Elia in the lobby. I didn’t know you two were… friends.”

She didn’t know that she’d ever have another reason for her carefully adapted Politician Voice. The voice that she’d perfectly crafted over the years to sound perfectly normal and unaffected, where only her family could hear the subtle difference – if any – between it and her actual voice.

Yet, here she was. Glad to be able to disguise her… _damn it_ , her ridiculous jealousy. That was the only word she could find for it at this point. That angrily hot and sinking feeling in her stomach, the matching gripping at the back of her throat, at that stupid, knowing smirk on Elia’s face. She was _jealous_.

Because Elia wanted Sansa – whether or not Sansa knew it, though Margaery was fairly certain that Elia wasn’t the type to keep her motives a secret.

Blue eyes widened, in a way that made Margaery wonder, shrugging with a small smile, her words coming out in a rushed ramble, “Well, we’re not really that good of friends, yet, but we met for coffee a few days ago – remember, the day I texted you about the new place down the street from your apartment? And then we just started talking. She’s nice, though. Funny, and –” Sansa abruptly cut herself off, her cheeks flushing deeply, “I guess, I mean. Yeah. We’re friends.”

It was in the way her cheeks flushed that made Margaery’s stomach clench tightly again, and with it an unmistakable and sudden urge to touch Sansa. Which was – it was illogical. It wasn’t as though Margaery couldn’t control herself, her wants and needs.

But it was the fact that Sansa was blushing when she mentioned Elia almost in the way that she did when Margaery flirted with her sometimes or when Margaery winked at her or when Margaery bite at the spot under her ear that gave her this _wanting_.

The need to push every thought of Elia Sand out of Sansa’s beautiful mind and replace it with herself. To put Sansa in the frame of mind where she was gasping out Margaery’s name the way she did right before she made her come.

“Um, why?” Sansa asked, her hands coming out in front of her and twisting together.

Margaery didn’t want to think too much about the fact that while Sansa was _learning_ , she wanted her to be just _learning_ from her. But there it was, and it was absolutely the truth.

It hadn’t occurred to her until that moment that her brother had used the word exclusive for them. And even though that had never been a word that Margaery had applied to herself in terms of romantic or sexual liaisons, she realized that she hadn’t even thought twice about it at the time. Because a part of her had assumed, when Sansa had been so adamant that _she_ be the one to “show her the ropes,” that she would be the only one.

She hadn’t known until this moment how much she liked that idea. How much she’d been enjoying being the only one in Sansa’s life in that capacity – for now – the way Sansa was the only one in hers.

She’d never been someone to not specify what she wanted, to not go after what she wanted. Within proper parameters, naturally, which was what made her draw in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. She’d hoped it would give her a bit of clarity of mind, but instead all she was still thinking about was Sansa backed against the wall and melting under her hands.

It didn’t work, and she felt the desire pool low in her stomach before she cleared her throat, “Sansa… do you still have that list of rules?”

Sansa gave her a confused look for a moment, “What –” before she cut herself off, flushing, as she nodded, “I – yeah. In my bedroom. Do you want it? Or to change something?” her voice slowed and lowered as she asked, and Margaery could practically see all of the thoughts that hit her at once to wonder about. _See_ that there was some sort of doubts in her mind about their _arrangement_ , and that could not be farther from the truth.

Instead of answer directly, though, she stepped closer, stepping out of her heels as she did so, slipping the jackets off of her shoulders, too. She enjoyed the way Sansa’s eyes watched the motion, “You could say that.”

She lifted an eyebrow, before she reached up to her own hair, running her hand through the curls to shake them out, then dragging her fingertips deliberately over her throat and collarbone before dropping them back to her side.

And blue eyes watched her, taking in the motion as Margaery could see Sansa thickly swallow and a flush spread over her neck and cheeks. Satisfaction teamed up with the desire she felt striking through her, and the images she had in her head about _taking_ Sansa were even more prominent than they were before.

They were made a step closer to reality as she dropped her hands to Sansa’s hips, and they walked a step back until Sansa was pressed against the wall. Deftly, she dipped her hands under the hem of Sansa’s sweater, running up so that her thumbs could swipe over soft skin of Sansa’s waist. She could feel Sansa’s goosebumps, and she smirked as she leaned in a little closer, moving her nose along Sansa’s neck, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of her lotion.

She could feel Sansa shiver, before she dropped her mouth in a light kiss against the soft, warm skin, “I think,” she placed another kiss, this time her mouth open, for a few seconds longer, “we should,” and then she moved up, nipping her teeth at Sansa’s earlobe, “add a rule.”

And it was in the easy way that Sansa melted back against the wall that sent another, deeper thrill through her. The need to take Sansa, to make sure that she was the only one to do this… gods, it was all she could think of, now.

But she wanted Sansa to think of this with a clear head, so she pulled back, scratching her nails down Sansa’s sides for a moment, before she let them drop.

Big blue eyes were dark and they blinked at her slowly, a flush of arousal over her cheeks as Margaery could feel her chest starting to heave with deep, heavy breaths, their chests brushing through their clothes, “Uh – I’m… um, what rule?”

“That for as long as we’re sleeping together, we’re the only ones. I won’t sleep with anyone else, and neither will you,” she clarified, her fingers itching to touch all of that soft, smooth skin again.

But she refrained, despite feeling drawn in by the enticing body warmth only inches from her fingertips.

Sansa’s eyebrows came together lightly in confusion as she licked her lips and Margaery’s throat felt dry as she watched it, “I didn’t… you were already the only one I wanted to – to show me,” she murmured, eyes locked on Margaery’s in question.

The groan in the back of Margaery’s throat was unprecedented and it felt so damn satisfying to hear those words, her one of her hands came to grip at curved hips under Sansa’s shirt, while the other came up to slide into the soft hair that was still tied up in a bun. She used her grip to pull Sansa down as she surged up, her stomach twisting in anticipation.

Her mouth parted as soon as she made contact with Sansa’s, licking into her mouth, and then against Sansa’s own as she scratched her hand up and down Sansa’s side. She did it first a little softly, the way she usually did, because she loved the way it made Sansa shudder lightly against her.

And then she let herself feel the still very present lingering jealousy in the pit of her stomach, and she scratched a little harder, her fingers leaving a mark on Sansa’s body as she sucked at her tongue and she hadn’t been very demanding with Sansa at all yet, not in terms of pushing the limits on being at all rough with her when it came to sex.

But – she _wanted_ , she wanted to feel Sansa against her fast and hard and right here against her kitchen wall. Wanted to make her come around her fingers, to feel her clenching for her, hear her crying out for her. Right here, right now.

Before she could check with Sansa, though – because this wasn’t what they’d done so far; she’d kept a leash on the more immediate needs like this with Sansa – she heard a low moan come from the back of Sansa’s throat as her hips jumped against Margaery’s fingers, pushing against her own.

And she quickly pushed back, pressing her hips to Sansa’s and then forcing her back against the wall. She stayed there, slotting her thigh as well as she could between Sansa’s, given that she was still wearing her dress and Sansa her jeans. For a moment, she regretting taking off her heels; she wanted to be taller now.

To be able to feel how hot she knew Sansa was for her already even between their clothes. To be able to give better friction for Sansa to grind against, not to mention how ridiculously hot the mental image was for her to imagine her fucking Sansa senseless while still in her dress and heels from work.

The thought alone made her groan into Sansa’s mouth, and in return, she felt Sansa whimper before her hips ground down against Margaery as best as she could but it wasn’t enough. Not for either of them, and she pulled back, dragging her teeth over Sansa’s bottom lip as she went, relishing in the shiver she got in response.

Sansa’s hands moved, jumping to life, one digging into Margaery’s waist, and the other sliding under her hair and into her neck in a possessive way that might leave a bit of a mark, and it shot another spark down Margaery’s spine.

She ran her fingertips down over the soft skin of Sansa’s stomach, feeling the muscles jump under her before she stroked just above Sansa’s jeans… a mischievous smile tugging at her mouth when she could hear the gasp Sansa let out and see the way Sansa’s head fell back against the wall.

Margaery leaned in again, this time using her tongue to run along Sansa’s neck before she panted softly in her own need to _take_ , “I want you,” she dropped her hand lower, tracing up the tight jeans covering Sansa’s inner thigh before pressing against the fabric covering her center. She rubbed, hard, her own breath coming out in quick, breathless pants along with Sansa’s, even as she used her body to press against Sansa’s, “Now. Not soft and slow, not stripped in your bed. I want to make you come right here, darling. Is that okay?”

She took her hand away, sliding up to hesitate over the button of the jeans, wanting nothing more than to slip inside but waiting…

Sansa nodded quickly; so fast that Margaery might have been amused if she wasn’t so – fuck – turned on herself. Her eyes were heavily lidded as they fluttered open and caught Margaery’s own, “I want – yes. Now.”

She used her hold in Sansa’s hair to bring her mouth back to her own, sucking at that full, soft pink lip softly as she unbuttoned and unzippered her jeans, and then slipped her hand into the thin, soft underwear and then slowly moved lower… until she felt Sansa’s mouth fall open against her own, dropping back against the wall once again as her fingers made contact with her heat.

Margaery’s own mouth fell open on a low moan, “Gods, you’re wet for me,” she whispered as she stroked her fingers in slow circles over the hard clit she could feel begging for her attention.

She touched her slowly, for just a second, brown eyes blown large and hazy in lust as she looked up at Sansa’s face. Sansa, who had her mouth now pulled between her teeth, who was releasing soft groans and moving her hips jerkily along with Margaery’s fingers.

Then she slid farther down, two of her fingers slipping into Sansa’s heat and sweet Seven, Sansa truly was soaked for her. For _her_ – and the thought of it made drove her to pull out quickly and thrust faster back in. Again, and again, until she was backing her hand so she could move harder than she had before.

Sansa’s hand over her dress was fisting as hard as she could against the skintight fabric, and the desperation of it, the way it pinched at her waist while she felt Sansa quaking around her fingers, panting out her name – Margaery didn’t think she’d ever felt this turned on so quickly.

“You feel so good for me like this,” she husked against Sansa’s throat as she placed sucking, wet kisses against her, loving the way she could feel her swallow against her mouth.

And if she moved a little harder, a little sharper at the _for me_ , well, she wouldn’t deny that it sent more of a thrill through her.

“You – ah – feel… so…” Sansa broke off in a groan, unable to finish, and Margaery rubbed her lips against Sansa’s neck before nipping her teeth again, and loving the way she could feel Sansa groan gutturally at the feeling, her thighs shaking as she starting making those whimpering noises Margaery knew signaled her orgasm.

And she knew she’d never been this excited to make a woman come for her. Never in her life had she needed to feel a woman clenching around her the way she needed Sansa to come for her right now.

Despite the fact that her angle was restricted, she moved faster, using her thumb to rub at Sansa’s clit for the first time since she’d slid into her. And the whine it elicited from somewhere deep in Sansa had Margaery shuddering along with her as she dug her teeth into the space between Sansa’s neck and shoulder, “Come now, Sansa. I want to feel you.”

It surprised her, the fact that her words made Sansa toss her head from side to side as soon as she said them. That she almost immediately felt Sansa’s hips bucking at her, once – twice, hard. Before she froze, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as Margaery’s fingers were coated in even more wetness.

And… seven hells, Margaery soaked it all in, a dark delight in Sansa coming like this – fully clothed and desperate for her, unrestrained, in her kitchen. Gods, she dropped her head to Sansa’s shoulder, taking comfort in her soft warmth and shaking slightly herself as she slowed her fingers, stroking Sansa through the aftershocks of her orgasm.

The next few minutes found Sansa’s body slowly letting the tension relax and leech out, and that long, lithe body melted into the wall, the hand that had dug into Margaery’s neck sliding to mirror her other one on Margaery’s hips. And Margaery melted into Sansa, leaning into her softness as she felt Sansa just breathe against her.

Sansa hummed, the sound pleased and low in her throat and it sent another shiver down Margaery’s spine. She could feel the way Sansa swallowed once, then again, from where her forehead was still perched against her shoulder, before her voice came out, still a little out of breath, “I guess that means we aren’t watching that movie.”

She slowly pulled her fingers out, lingering for a moment as everything seemed to slow back into place again, the blood that had been pounding in her ears receding as she leaned back, making eye contact with hooded blue eyes, “Sorry,” she wasn’t _that_ sorry, but still, “I know that’s the first rule.”

She watched for a few moments as her own heartbeat slowed down even though the _want_ was pounding through her. Watched as Sansa swallowed once, heavily, and Margaery could feel the way her fingers twitched slightly at her hold on Margaery’s hips. Hips that pressed forward a bit uncontrollably at the movement, her breath catching in her throat before she blew it out lowly.

“ _Mm_ , that’s – it’s okay. Totally… okay,” Sansa sighed out, a small, satisfied smile on her mouth, “Next time.”

Margaery found herself smiling back as she finally pulled away, missing the warmth of Sansa’s body yet feeling too hot in her dress, she confirmed, her voice low, “Next time.”

Sansa stretched and greedy brown eyes drowned in the movement, her throat drying, before she opened her mouth to say something… which then snapped shut as blue eyes focused just beyond Margaery’s shoulder. The focus was enough to draw Margaery’s own away from her desires – namely, to get them both naked and to be touched – and she glanced over her shoulder, landing on where she’d stripped off the blue jacket on the counter. Sansa’s jacket.

She turned back to the redhead, who had an adorable furrow in her eyebrow, as she looked from her jacket back to Margaery, “I forgot that I left that at your apartment; I was looking for that last week.”

Incredulous, she arched an eyebrow, “I know you’re little miss tough girl and everything, but darling, it’s been freezing out – too cold for just that light coat. There’s no way you were going to wear it.”

“You were,” Sansa bantered back, and she tilted her head waiting for an answer, the bun holding up that curtain of red hair that was even looser now, falling to one side.

Margaery shook her head, before taking a few steps back to grab for the jacket with one hand, running the other along the soft fabric, as she corrected, “ _No_ , I wore it under my actual coat because it went really well with my outfit.” She draped the jacket over a chair, smoothing it down, before she tossed Sansa a wink, “You might have to fight me to get it back.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open in offense, “I have to win my _own_ jacket back from you? I don’t think so. I love that coat, Margaery.”

The serious, demanding tone she used to say it shot an unexpected spark down her spine, and Margaery shivered. It wasn’t like she’d been serious; though she liked Sansa’s jacket, she didn’t necessarily intend on stealing it. But _now_ … well, she might just want to keep this going.

And… it was yet another first for her. Two firsts so quickly after one another; sex sparked by jealousy and now this. This playfulness. It wasn’t like Margaery hadn’t had sex with women while teasing – her sex life consisting of single nights and hookups would be a little strange without that flirting. But she’d never felt this genuine affection while also feeling like she was itching to rip off someone’s clothing before.

So she arched an eyebrow, impishly asked, “Oh, yeah? How much?”

When Sansa’s eyes caught hers again, they were wide and Margaery could almost see the way they registered her tone. From the goosebumps, to the way her pupils dilated, and how those eyes started to darken again. Just as they had been starting to clear, too. They focused on the deliberate way Margaery bit into her bottom lip, and triumph raced through her, mixing with the desire.

“How… how much?” Sansa had to clear her throat in the middle of asking.

Margaery tossed her a wink, starting to walk out of the kitchen, down the hall that led to the bedrooms, “How much do you love that coat? I think you’re going to have to _really_ show me. It’s the only way you’ll get it back now,” she taunted.

And it worked, because Sansa shook her head slightly, as if shaking herself out of whatever thought she’d had. The way she squared her shoulders as if going on a mission… as if Margaery was going to be her mission, before those eyes focused on her made her nearly stumble over her own feet.

Sansa reached her, fingers tracing down from Margaery’s collarbone to the cleavage of her dress, and she shuddered, before Sansa swallowed hard, “I think you might see that… I have a lot of dedication to things I love.”

Her eyes met baby blues as she hummed low in her throat, before murmuring back, “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

Sansa’s mouth descended to her own, hungrily, hands sliding down to grasp at her hips again, this time firm and more commanding than questioning. More knowing than they’d been the last time they’d done this, which was more knowing than the time before that. And when Sansa backed her into the wall, firmly – firm enough that she felt like the moan that left her throat had been torn out of her in the best way possible – she thanked the gods for that fast learning curve.

At this rate, she was never giving back that jacket.

It was hours later, after they’d moved from the kitchen to the bedroom, after she’d made Sansa come again, and had the favor returned – twice, while also learning that Sansa not only enjoyed being taken _hard and fast_ but she was also pretty amazing at giving it – that they laid in Sansa’s bed.

She thought it was past midnight, but she couldn’t be sure; from where she was laying on her side, she couldn’t see any sort of clock. And… her body felt too nice to move. Too _fucked_ , really. But her brain was kicking back into high gear.

She was too well-fucked to do anything but wonder aloud, “So, you watched the interview?”

The chuckle that Sansa let out from next to her, red hair finally freed and loose and a waterfall along the sheets behind her as she faced Margaery, was lazy, “Of course you think about that right now.”

“Quite frankly, sweetling, I think it’s a bit impressive that you managed to stop me from thinking about it for hours,” she shot back, her own voice marginally more awake. Then again, sometimes that happened.

Sex was a stress relief for her, of course. And in this case, that had been so good she now felt somewhat wired. Like… she could take on the world. From the bed, anyway.

Sansa readjusted the blanket that rested over her chest, tucking her arm under it and against her chest, in a somewhat shy way. But Margaery could tell in the way she did it that she was feeling pleased and proud, “That’s true. But yeah, I watched the interview. She was good. You’re better, though.”

Her words weren’t meant to be flattery; she could hear the honest, earnest tone that Sansa so often managed to have, and she didn’t know when she came to enjoy that so much – to almost rely on it – but she had.

“Thanks,” she whispered, before dark eyes narrowed, and she wondered for a moment if she should confide what she’d been thinking about Cersei earlier. Because it might be easier not to; to wait until tomorrow to talk about it with her team first, but… she wanted to know what Sansa thought. “I got the feeling while I was watching it that there’s something going on – behind the scenes. About me,” she clarified. “She just… you _know_ Cersei. You know her. She was fairly decent, almost, about me, all things considered.”

And she hoped – god, she hoped – that it wasn’t her reading too much into anything. That her instincts were on track.

“I think you’re right,” Sansa murmured, her voice getting sluggish and drowsy in a way that made Margaery want to grin, soft and slow right back.

And she did, even though it was a little brighter than _soft and slow_ , because, “Really? You agree?” dark eyes were fully alight with interest now, her mind – despite having slowed and calmed in the last few hours, the echoing of _Sansa_ and her moans and whimpers drowning out the stress of Cersei and her interview – fully functioning and thinking back to the interview once again.

Those big blue eyes blinked up at her slowly, looking somehow both serious with the conversation and adorably lethargic, “Yes? I mean… Cersei is – she’s not exactly someone who doesn’t have tricks under her sleeve. You’re smart to think something else might be going on; you’re – well, you,” she added with a quick uptick to soft, pink lips.

Margaery smiled back at her, victoriously, with this inflating warmth in her chest at the knowledge that not only was she right to be worried, but that it was Sansa who agreed. She shifted a bit, her bare back pressing against a cool pillow as she looked up at the ceiling.

Her voice was quiet as it cut through the night air, “You have no idea how glad I am that you say that. I mean, I _knew_ that there has to be something else going on, but without any way to prove it right now… it’s just nice to know that you agree. I’ve been going over it all day, but –” she cut herself off with a small sigh, sinking down into the pillow, “And this isn’t the best conversation to have right before bed, so maybe we can resume over coffee.”

She turned her head to look at Sansa, and instead of seeing sleepy eyes looking back at her, she was met with soft, deep even breaths as the younger girl curled in on her side. It made Margaery smile softly; this wasn’t the first time that she’d seen Sansa sleeping.

Since they’d started this friends with benefits agreement, they’d stayed true to the rule where Sansa would spend the night at her place. Though she was sure now that Sansa wasn’t going to leave in tears or worried about Margaery not wanting her, because _that would be impossible_ , they still stuck with the rule.

And it really wasn’t bad when Sansa spent the night with her, despite having avoided any sleepovers with women at her apartment. She didn’t steal blankets or sprawl over the bed, she didn’t really move all that much in her sleep or snore loudly. She generally fell asleep a little sooner than Margaery did, but Margaery was usually fairly soon after.

Plus, Sansa woke up even earlier than she did and slipped out of her bed seamlessly, made sure her coffeemaker was working, and went back to her own apartment before Margaery was fully awake.

She was an unobtrusive morning guest and Margaery appreciated that.

Dark eyes roamed soft and pretty sleeping features, the way Sansa’s chest rose and fell under her blanket, the way her fingers rested on the pillow under her head. Like she’d tried to stay up and listen to Margaery but couldn’t stay awake.

Which was unbelievably sweet and very much _Sansa_ , and that little rush of affection hit her again.

And even though they’d spent the night together, even though Margaery had had “sleepovers” with Sansa now, this felt different somehow. It was different… because this was the first night that Margaery was spending not in her own bed.

She’d had sex with women not in her bed – it was preferable that way, because then she could leave. She liked to leave after; their beds didn’t feel as comfortable as her own did to actually sleep in, she liked her own space, waking up around her own things.

But here she was. In Sansa’s bed. Feeling warm and comfortable and like… she wouldn’t mind falling asleep here and waking up in the morning, despite not having her own things around her.

That thought, however, wasn’t warm and comfortable. In fact, it took the warmth right out of her, and instead, she sat farther up against the pillow. Her hand came up, running through her hair wincing as her fingers snagged on her curls, even as she shook her head at herself.

This was – it was normal. Despite the fact that she didn’t have many close friends, she did have at the very least Renly. And she’d spent a few nights at his place. Had felt… comfortable there. This was essentially the same thing, enjoying the warmth of Sansa’s bed and the subtle, enticing, now-familiar scent of her surrounding her in the blankets.

Her eyes narrowed a bit, looking down at Sansa, who seemed liked she was curled a little closer to Margaery now. And – all she needed was some water. Just a glass of water, and then she would follow Rule 4, the sleepover rule, and leave in the morning, early and unobtrusive and happy to go back to her own bed. Alone.

Like usual.

Because sleeping in the soft, warm, comfortable, nice-smelling bed of your friends-with-benefits friend wasn’t anything strange. It shouldn’t make her feel freaked out at all.

She repeated that to herself as she slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, her eyes adjusted enough in the dark room to find the sweater that Sansa had been wearing before she’d hurriedly tugged it off, and pull it over her head. Which, wearing her clothes also wasn’t strange. No, it wasn’t the same casual thing as wearing her jacket, but what was she supposed to do? Put her own dress back on just to go get some water?

No, she assured herself, because that wasn’t how these things were done.  

She left Sansa’s door cracked as she made her way lightly down the hall and into the kitchen. Jeyne had gotten home a few hours ago; she’d knocked on Sansa’s door and made a comment about being safe and keeping the volume down, which had made Sansa blush and also shout back for her friend to mind her own business.

Which gave Margaery even more motivation to stay quiet as she turned into the doorway to the kitchen. Because the last thing she needed at this moment was to run in to Sansa’s best friend and roommate who disliked her enough already, while she was having slight internal worries about staying the night.

But this was one of the reasons Margaery had been reluctant to do this in the first place. Because she was new at this, and Margaery didn’t do well with _new_ things, like spending the night in the bed of the woman who had thoroughly fucked her, even if she was friends with her.

And when she did find herself in unfamiliar situations, she liked to master them. Quickly and subtly, so that it could appear as effortless as possible. Which certainly didn’t entail leaving in the middle of –

“Gods!” the word left her on a shout, as loud as she could manage as her breath knocked out of her, when something – something small but solid – caught her in the stomach, so fast that she hadn’t seen it coming, especially in the darkened rooms.

The pain wasn’t blinding by any means, but she pressed her hand there instinctively, rubbing as she tried to blink enough to adjust when the light was thrown on, her mind on high alert as she circled around to what the hells someone was supposed to do when this was happening, but she didn’t have more than a few seconds before the next onslaught attack.

She only caught the glimpse of dark brown hair, before her arm was grasped, and she was pressed against the wall, for the second time that night. Though this time was marginally less pleasurable and exciting, and instead an unaccustomed jolt of worry shot through her, mixed with the bruising force of the hand gripping her.

The brunette wasn’t Jeyne, though, she realized even before her vision had reacted enough for her to see clearly in the now brightly lit kitchen. No, it was someone several inches shorter, with hair cut short and a bit choppy, who was wearing old sweatpants and bare feet. She was shorter than Margaery herself, but even when her other hand came up to push at her shoulder automatically trying to distance herself and _get away_ , the girl’s slight frame didn’t move more than an inch.

Bewildered and surprised and doing her best not to panic, Margaery pushed again, though the grip holding her only tightened as a foot wrapped around her ankle in a move she recognized from a self-defense class Loras had gotten her to take. A move that told her that her assailant was preparing to throw her on the ground.

It had only been seconds, but Margaery was already cursing herself for how long it took her to respond, and regardless of what how quiet she’d been for the last minute or so to get into the kitchen, she shouted, “Get _away_ from me, you lunatic!”

And she wondered, with glaring gray eyes looking up at her, what the seven hells this was. Was this some sort of botched robbery? Barefoot thief? Escaped mental patient? Was –

The hallway light was flipped on within seconds and she head hurried footsteps running down the hallway, before Margaery turned to see Sansa – with only a sheet wrapped around her while tired but shocked eyes were now alert as she took in whatever this ridiculous situation was going on between Margaery and the small attacker.

But instead of… anything that she could have thought might happen, Sansa didn’t look panicked as though she was being robbed or as though a mentally ill person had somehow broken in. Instead, she looked surprised and confused, recognition setting in on her face.

And the would-be robber, her aggressor, didn’t waver in her grip even as she shot Sansa a sharp smile.

An easy smile that didn’t look at all like she had just – was currently – assaulting Margaery while she was only wearing Sansa’s long sweater in the middle of the night in her kitchen. A smile that definitely didn’t belong on someone’s face while they held her in an unrelenting grip, after they’d been lurking around in the dark, “Sans! You had an intruder.”

Margaery grit her teeth together in irritation now, all previous worry replaced with steel frustration, as she tried to pull her arm out of grasp. Because at least now she knew that this – this insane person _knew_ Sansa somehow and that she wasn’t about to be murdered.

Sansa shook her head at herself before she narrowed her eyes, and _that_ was most definitely an angry look, aimed at the girl, “The only intruder right now is you; get off of her!”

The short girl shrugged like this was an everyday occurrence, dropping her hand and stepping back from her. And for all Margaery knew, this wasn’t the only time something like this had happened, because who in the Seven was that? Margaery felt the urge to rub at her arm where the bruising grasp had been, but resisted for now. At least until she was out of company with this… person. Not until she could be alone to show that it had actually been painful.

“What are you doing here, Arya?” Sansa’s voice was puzzled, and she looked a little disgruntled, before she looked to Margaery, and she could see the worry written all over her face, “Are you okay?”

She waved her off, even though her heart was still pounding a bit in her chest from all of the… action, “I’m – yes, I’m quite all right,” she answered in a clipped tone, hoping that they both understood it was directed at the smaller girl.

Sansa seemed like she didn’t quite know where to look, before her eyes focused on something on the floor behind Margaery, “Did you throw my peanut butter on the ground and then assault my – my friend?” she mixed up a bit at the words, her cheeks flushing, even as she sent a _look_ at the younger girl.

A look that Margaery had never seen on her face, one of familiar exasperation. She placed it in the moment that she darted her eyes to see that her assailant had thrown a jar of _peanut butter_ , hitting her in the stomach, before grabbing her.

She almost wanted to laugh at… everything, only she was still trying to process it all.

And the brunette just shrugged before she bent to pick it up, “I mean, I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t that extra chunky kind that I hate. I wouldn’t have risked damaging a jar of smooth and creamy.”

It was that moment that Margaery realized – she knew that name. _Arya_. And that dark hair, those eyes – the fact that this small girl was made of muscle. The younger Stark sister, and she hardly managed to hold in her groan and maintain her composure.

Apparently, the last thing Margaery needed wasn’t, in fact, running into Jeyne as she got a class of water; it was being accosted by Sansa’s little sister in the middle of the night while dressed only in Sansa’s sweater.

Perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I can't apologize enough for the long wait between chapters. I have reasons, of course, but at the base of it, I completely know how it feels to be waiting on a fic to be updated. So, I apologize! I do try to make the wait as short as possible.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading, for everyone who still is, and please let me know your thoughts and opinions!
> 
> Also... just so you know, even when it takes me a few months to update, I am most definitely not abandoning this story.


	15. Opportunity

Throughout Sansa’s life, she’d experienced many embarrassing moments that Arya had been at the root of. There was the time Sansa’s diary entries had been read aloud to Arya’s friends and had then circulated through their school, the time she’d flicked french fries at Sansa in the cafeteria and everyone had seen as ketchup had dripped down her face, the time Arya dropped water balloons from their top balcony so that Sansa got _drenched_ at her high school graduation party.

Granted, her sister hadn’t been aiming for her; those water balloons had been intended for Robb, but the point remained.

However, her sister _attacking_ her – her Margaery in the middle of the night was beyond mortifying, and Sansa could feel her face flaming in embarrassment. She’d been sound asleep in a way that she’d really only experienced after she’d started having sex with Margaery in the last few weeks. Sound asleep because she was exhausted and sated and her body felt so relaxed that it was easy to succumb to sleep.

Especially when she had Margaery next to her, soft and warm, and she was lulled to sleep by the sound of her breathing. And given that it was the first time they’d spent the night in her own bed, it felt different but still amazing.

She enjoyed the nights she’d spent at Margaery’s; her bed was even bigger than Sansa’s, felt like she was laying on a cloud, and it smelled fresh and flowery just like Margaery did always. But earlier tonight… well, there was something to be said about having Margaery spend the night in her bed.

Something that made her heart beat just a little faster, something that made her stomach feel a little settle in a comfortable warmth. It was that same something that had her reaching out for the spot where she knew Margaery was in her bed while she was still half-asleep only to find it empty.

Sansa had always been a light sleeper, and not only did she somewhat wake up when Margaery slipped out of bed, but once she’d heard a thump and Margaery’s semi-shouted words, she’d been wide awake. And nervous enough about what she was going to find that she ran out as fast as she could. Not even grabbing something to wear on top of a pair of panties other than her sheet.

And this, well, this had been one of the last things she could have expected to see.

Holding the sheet together at her chest, she pressed her hand to her cheek in an attempt to staunch the furious blush, before pressing it to her forehead and rubbing. Of _course_ this would happen. Just – of course.

She couldn’t quite bite back a tired sigh, tinged with that embarrassment and exasperation. An exasperation that only Arya could bring out in her, really, “Margaery, this is my sister Arya. Arya, the woman that you attacked is my friend Margaery. Who you owe an apology to,” she quickly added, reprimanding in a tone that was almost too close to their mother’s.

She hoped it would work enough to get Arya to do as she suggested.

It was sort of strange, introducing Margaery to her sister. Strange and still mortifying, because even though Arya knew about her sexuality, she’d never imagined something like this. Not to mention, Arya had never exactly gotten along with anyone Sansa had been, uh, romantic with.

Not that she and Margaery were _romantic_ , but – rolling her eyes slightly at herself, she shook her head and let her hand fall to her side.

She bit her bottom lip as she watched Arya turn to face Margaery, her gray eyes alight with a suspicion and amusement that Sansa could recognize. Her eyebrow winged up in indecipherable question as she tilted her head, “Hey. Sorry, about the peanut butter. And throwing you against the wall.” She shrugged affably, in a way that was natural and didn’t surprise Sansa in the least because it was so _Arya_. But, it was an apology. And that was all she could ask for.

“In my defense, though, you were skulking around my sister’s apartment in the dark in the middle of the night,” Arya added, decidedly unapologetically.

Sansa groaned this time, her head falling into her head, “Really, Arya?”

Before she could make any excuses, though, she watched as Margaery tugged the bottom of the sweater she was wearing in a quick, effortless movement to straighten it out and her shoulders drew back, tall and straight. Sansa felt her stomach drop in amazement mixed with attraction, because wearing only Sansa’s wrinkled sweater, with brown curls tousled and falling down her back, Margaery looked somehow more dignified than most people could when they were dressed in formalwear.

And despite the fact that she’d just been practically attacked in the middle of the night, Margaery appeared effortless as she inclined her head, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, regardless of the circumstances.”

There was the smallest tick in her jaw, though, and surprised blue eyes widened as she caught it, Sansa’s posture straightening in unconscious excitement. A few months ago, she wasn’t sure that she would have picked up on one of cues of irritation Margaery tried to hide; she was so good at hiding them.

Despite the situation, it excited her.

“And I might add that it’s an interesting addendum coming from someone who was standing in the room in the middle of the night after apparently giving no notice of impending arrival,” Margaery’s voice was light and jabbing, with an underlying seriousness.

It made a slightly _too_ excited feeling skitter down her spine, before she took note of the way Arya’s eyes glinted back. Before she had to intervene, though, it was a difference voice that rang out, and Sansa squeezed her eyes closed because _of course_.

“What in the Seven is going on out here? It’s after one in the morning, and –” Jeyne cut herself off as she rounded the corner, and Sansa was already shaking her head at the way Jeyne’s eyes positively _gleamed_ in delight, “Oh, wow. It’s never what I expect,” she murmured, the last part mostly to herself.

Sansa grit her teeth, “Go back to bed.”

Her words went entirely unheard, “Arya, I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”

“No one did,” Sansa interjected again, irritation clear in her tone as it sat heavily in her stomach, but her best friend and sister were _long_ used to her exasperation.

Margaery shook her head, expression placid, as she _hmm_ ’d softly, but skillfully enough to draw everyone’s attention, “Regardless of the lovely time we’re all having, I do have work in the morning. It was quite the experience meeting you Arya, always a privilege to see you Jeyne. If you’ll excuse me.”

The look she shot both of the brunettes was enough to quell anything other than Jeyne’s too chipper, “Goodnight!”

But she walked by Sansa, close enough to brush their shoulders together. Sansa’s was still bare, but the sweater that Margaery was wearing – _her_ sweater, which really shot a little thrill through her in spite of… everything that had just happened – was soft and warm now, and she shivered, her hand clenching briefly on the sheet she was holding to herself.

She couldn’t help but let her eyes trail Margaery for a few seconds as she somehow managed to stride back down the hallway. But the snickering that came from Jeyne and Arya had her snapping her gaze back to them, flushing as she demanded, “Arya, _what_ are you doing here?”

Her sister’s entertaining tapered off as she threw her hands out, as if she was the put-out party, “You knew I was coming back to King’s Landing!”

Sansa’s other hand came up, trailing through her hair, impatience cutting through everything else. Because she did know that Arya was coming back to King’s Landing; they’d talked about it a few weeks ago, not to mention that they were leaving to go home together in less than a week. However, that wasn’t the point, “Yes, I knew you were coming back from Braavos but what are you doing _here_ , when I distinctly remember telling you that you couldn’t stay here?”

She went to fold her arms in the stern way she’d taken to when scolding her sister over the years, but then remembered her sheet, and dropped her other arm back down while holding it in place.

Arya’s eyes rolled at her, an exaggerated groan coming from the back of her throat, “Sans, you know I hate staying with that bitch! I just had to share a suite with her for _three months_ , and I practically slept with my eyes open every night. I had nowhere else to go,” she insisted before picking up the peanut butter with as close to a sheepish look as Arya could manage.

Sansa’s own eyes rolled back before she squeezed them closed to gather her thoughts – she rarely ever experienced nights where she was up this late at all, had _never_ experienced something like this. Something like the girl she was sleeping with finally spending the night in her bed only to be interrupted by her sister breaking in.

Even with a deep breath, her shoulders were still rigid with frustration as she reminded, “Your company _pays_ for apartments for you to stay in when you’re here for training. You literally have a home paid for to go to.”

Valar Morghulis Kickboxing was one of the most respected in the _world_ and they only recruited the best of the best; they’d taken Arya in for training two years ago – right out of high school – and ever since, her sister had been set. They had some of the best medical experts on their teams, provided all meals, and not only paid for hotels when they were traveling, not to mention provided company owned apartments for when they were staying in King’s Landing.

Sansa knew all of this, because when her sister had been recruited, she’d bragged for days about her “sweet setup.” That was, until last year, when they’d also hired a girl who was already training for professional status, who Arya refused to refer to as anything other than the _waif bitch_.

Sansa would admit, Waif Bitch also gave her chills – the bad kind. She wouldn’t want to have to share an apartment with her, either.

But that didn’t mean she should have to have her sister as a houseguest, either.

“And what about Gendry? You know, your boyfr-”

Arya promptly cut her off, “ _Not_ my boyfriend,” she grumbled, because for reasons beyond Sansa’s comprehension, her sister would have an – by all accounts – exclusive relationship with a guy who was attractive, hardworking, witty, and loyal to a fault, introduce him to their parents, and routinely stay with him when she was in King’s Landing yet still refuse to call him her boyfriend.

Sansa didn’t think she would ever understand her sister completely.

“Besides, I was going to stay with him, but I was on a plane for over seven hours, I have to go to a training meeting in the morning, and I just finished a tournament; Gendry is working until close,” she added on, and shed some light. Gendry, who worked at a bar and lived above it, so even if he wasn’t working late, it would have still probably been loud as the hells, “I’m tired,” her voice came out on as much of a whine as Arya would allow.

And it was that which made Sansa’s resolve weaken. Because she knew that the three month tournament in Braavos had taken a lot out of her sister, and for Arya to openly admit that she was so tired to her, right now, when usually she stayed up until three or four in the morning…

Well, it made her feel the distinct protective feeling she got only when she was dealing with one of her younger siblings.

Biting her lip, she let her shoulders slump in defeat, “You are _not_ staying here for more than a night. I mean it. Not after last time.”

“Seconded!” Jeyne jumped in quickly, before shrugging unapologetically when Arya turned an incredulous look at her, “You made your bed, kid.”

More aptly, Arya hadn’t made her bed. _Hers_ , as in Sansa’s. Because last summer, Arya had dropped in on their doorstep, exhausted, and complaining about sharing her apartment with the Waif Bitch, and Sansa had been unable to refuse her.

Which had been an awful mistake, because it seemed that five years of not living with Arya let her forget how much they’d wanted to _kill each other_ when they did live together. It had been a week of living with her sister before both Sansa and Jeyne had gone crazy and worked as a team to kick her out.

Her sister, who ate every damn bit of food in the kitchen even if she claimed she didn’t like it. Her sister, who left splotches of toothpaste in the sink and her dirty socks on the floor. Her sister, who refused to stay on the couch and would always weasel her way into sleeping in Sansa’s bed because “your couch is small and shit and lumpy, I have a physically demanding job and I need a good night’s rest.”

… which typically meant that Sansa would find a bed on the couch, because her sister had the habit of kicking her feet in bed. And while Arya was _wrong_ because her couch was not lumpy, Sansa wanted to sleep in her own damn bed!

Arya considered Jeyne’s words before humming and shrugging, placing the peanut butter back on the counter, “One night is all I ask.”

Even though Sansa doubted it, she didn’t have it in her to argue anymore. Especially when they both knew her well enough to know that she’d already lost, “And you are sleeping on the couch. No arguments.”

Arya’s mouth fell open but before she could dispute, Sansa adjusted the sheet around her before spinning around and throwing over her shoulder, “Now, I’m going back to my room. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

She had to bundle up her sheet a bit so that it didn’t get stuck awkwardly around her heels as she quickly walked into her room, shutting the door behind her. She’d expected the lights to be off still, for Margaery to have climbed back into bed – the prospect of it had her excited, despite… everything.

Instead, her room was cast in a soft shadow as the lamp on her bedside table was on, and wide blue eyes blinked for a few moments to adjust. And instead of having crawled back into bed wearing Sansa’s sweater, Margaery was standing a few feet ahead of her, tugging at the hem of her dress even as her other hand was starting to tug on her heels.

It had only been the span of, what, two minutes? But Margaery was already dressed and there was no way Sansa could possibly believe that she was getting dressed in _that_ to go to sleep. Which meant, “You’re – are you leaving?”

She bit her lip after she heard her own voice, nerves and insecurities and confusing that she could feel inside seeping into her tone. But she couldn’t help it; everything had been fine hadn’t it?

Margaery shook her head, her hair glinting in the dimmed light as she finished slipping on her heels, “I’m just going to go, darling. Your sister is here and you haven’t seen her in a while.”

But Sansa quickly shook her head in denial, “I mean, no I haven’t seen her in a while. But I’m going to be seeing her all of the time when we go see our parents for Christmas. And it’s not like we’re going to be catching up tonight.” She didn’t like the way Margaery didn’t meet her eyes as she secured her earring, her stomach dropping so low she thought it was going to fall to the floor.

Margaery finally flicked her gaze to Sansa’s, eyes wide and gleaming just a bit, “No more bonding beyond her throwing me against a wall after assaulting me with peanut butter?” the fact that her tone was teasing made the nerves calm a bit.

But still, Sansa’s eyebrows drew together without her able to stop it, and she waved her hand in the air, “That’s… well, that’s Arya. Which isn’t an excuse! You know, she really is, um, she wouldn’t have intentionally hurt you if she knew we were friends. She drops in and out as she pleases; I’m used to it.”

If Arya had been what caused this – the fact that Margaery wasn’t going to spend the night in Sansa’s bed for the first time – she was going to be royally angry with her sister.

But what she’d said didn’t change Margaery’s mind, apparently.

She moved to stand right in front of Sansa, standing perfectly at eye-level thanks to Sansa’s bare feet and Margaery’s shoes. Her hair was still tumbled despite the fact that she’d clearly run her hands through it a few times, but it looked… unfairly gorgeous. And she smelled like an enticing combination of her own perfume mixed with Sansa’s and just a bit like sex still.

And Sansa very much wanted for both of them to climb back into bed and to cuddle like Margaery usually did in her sleep, as Sansa had come to learn after spending the night in Margaery’s bed.

Her voice was doing that thing where it was soft but firm, “Sansa, your sister is here. I’m going to go, and you can spend some time with her now or in the morning. I know you’ve missed her,” the look Margaery gave her dared Sansa to disagree, but she couldn’t.

She _had_ but Margaery leaving in and of itself was disappointing. Even beyond that, though, Sansa felt like something was off. Maybe she couldn’t say exactly why she felt like that, but it was sitting there in her chest. The fast turn-around of the night, the way Margaery was ready to go, the way she hadn’t met her questioning gaze at first…

Something felt off, “It’s – it’s like two in the morning.” Uncertainty laced through her veins easily, and she tangled her hands in front of her, blue eyes searching Margaery’s as she took a deep breath and asked, “Is everything okay?”

She watched closely in the dim lighting given by her bedside lamp, for any sign that Margaery was hiding something. And for a moment, she thought maybe her expression shifted, but then it was smoothing into a quirked smile, and Margaery’s eyes gleamed with it, “Of course.”

Her hand came up and cupped Sansa’s jaw, her thumb rubbing lightly over her skin and Sansa couldn’t help but shiver. Before Margaery leaned in and Sansa’s mind jumped in excitement to _kiss_. Kiss goodbye, which wasn’t necessarily something they did, because… well, the _rules_. Kisses were for sex. Not hellos and goodbyes, but at that very moment she wanted it. The rush and the comfort.

And then she used her hand to tilt Sansa’s head to the side, her lips pressed to Sansa’s cheek. Her lips were soft and warm and they lingered. Lingered long enough that her eyes fluttered closed for a second, and a sigh escaped her throat while her shoulders untensed a bit.

When she pulled back with another stroke of her thumb over Sansa’s cheek, Sansa was met with another quirked grin, “I’ll see you later this week? For a strictly-friend hand out, since tonight’s missed that mark.”

“Okay,” Sansa murmured back, managing a smile back, “I’ll see you.”

Margaery, with her tumbled hair and clothes that were rumpled, managed to stride out of her room at two o’clock in the morning like she was some sort of model. Like she wasn’t leaving after a night of sex that _she’d_ initiated. Like she wasn’t confusing the hell of out Sansa.

Still feeling that uncertainty, tinged with disappointment, Sansa heaved a deep sigh now and dropped her sheet before pulling on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in. Margaery had said everything was fine, that she had an early morning. And she had just gotten off to a strange start with Arya, so Sansa couldn’t even really blame her for wanting to leave, she supposed.

Besides, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she read into things that weren’t there with Margaery. She’d thought Margaery hadn’t even been attracted to her when they’d first had sex, for Seven’s sake. So the fact that she was still thinking that something was going on now just because of a few fleeting expressions on Margaery’s face and a _feeling_ , well… that was basically meaningless, right?

She quickly grabbed one of her other sheets from her closet and used it to make her bed, tossing the one that she’d been wearing into her hamper. Slowly, she climbed back into bed, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. If something was wrong with Margaery, she probably wouldn’t know what it was unless Margaery told her.

A huffed breath left her throat as she pulled her blankets over herself before reaching up to shut off her lamp, the room falling into darkness. Everything had been going so well…

Despite her uneasiness, she turned onto her side, curled up in her covers, and closed her eyes to try to sleep. Everything was probably fine, she assured herself. Though she didn’t convince her own mind, she tried to force her mind to stop working overtime.

She still had a final to take in the morning, not to mention her meeting with Dr. Lannister afterwards; Margaery wasn’t the only one of the two of them with an early day.

She’d only been settled back into bed for a minute – not even long enough to calm her mind enough to fall back to sleep – when she heard her door creak open. And her heart skipped a beat in its excitement that maybe Margaery _was_ going to spend the night after all.

Before _that_ was proven wrong, as she felt her bed dip and heard a too-familiar groan of her sister, “Gods, your bed is, like, the most comfortable place.”

Rolling her eyes, annoyance curling through her, Sansa reached out to fruitlessly push Arya out of her bed, “I know, which is why I’m sleeping in it and _you’re_ sleeping on the couch.”

Her sister didn’t move an inch – Sansa supposed that’s what happened when your body was made of muscle, no matter how damn small you were – only to roll onto her side to face Sansa. From the limited view she had of Arya in the dark, she could see that her face was teasing, “Your _friend_ sure left quickly.”

“Well that’s what happens when your little sister assaults her in the middle of the night,” she retorted, pulling her hand back and rolling her eyes.

Arya shrugged before Sansa felt her slip under the blankets, “Yeah, well, as the only other Stark in King’s Landing, isn’t it my right to put the fear of the Mother into your _girlfriend_?”

Cheeks burning, Sansa pulled her pillow over her head in an attempt to take herself out of this conversation, “She is _not_ my girlfriend.”

“That’s what Jeyne said,” Arya tossed back easily, “But I have two eyes and I don’t even need them both to have seen the way you look at her. Besides, _Sansa Stark_ having a fuck buddy? It’s practically unheard of; you’re only going to sleep with someone if you have feelings for them.”

Now, she reached up to grab the pillow that she’d been using to cover her face and even while her cheeks were burning, she hit Arya with it. She gained some satisfaction in the surprised _oof_ , and the knowledge that she’d hit her sister right in the face, “Like _you’re_ one to give any sort of relationship advice?”

She groaned when her own face was hit with a pillow in retaliation before Arya fell onto her back next to her, “Damn, I’m not judging you for once. I’m just saying… you like her. And she was out of here like someone lit a match under her. That’s just because of me throwing some jar of peanut butter at her?”

Sansa wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, she truly did. Because how had the night that had started out so well turned out like this? Instead, Arya’s words sat heavily on her shoulders, and she reached up to brush her hair back, “Can we just… not talk about this anymore? Ever? I’ll forget the fact that you broke into my apartment, attacked my friend, and injured my peanut butter if you can forget the fact that you saw – everything that you saw,” she quickly added on, blushing again at the realization of what her sister walked in on.

Arya was quiet for a few moments, before she shrugged, “I guess,” but her voice was more thoughtful than Sansa would have thought. Arya was never overly concerned with Sansa’s relationships, save for the few times she’d offered to beat up some past boyfriends.

More than anything, though, she didn’t want to ruminate anymore about Margaery or her leaving or her little sister seeing both of them in any stage of nudity.

“I’m not going to let go of the fact that you climbed into my bed when I _told_ you, you have to sleep on the couch,” she added on, but even with the irritation of Arya sneaking in unannounced, with her possibly having something to do with Margaery leaving, and with her inevitably going to spent the night in Sansa’s bed instead of the couch, she couldn’t keep the affection out of her voice.

She _had_ missed her, after all.

Arya didn’t miss a beat, grumbling, “You know I hate your couch. And your bed is comfortable as fuck; I’ve been sleeping in the same room as the Waif Bitch for three months, do you think I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep?”

Now, she couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, before she reached out to tap Arya lightly on the chin. When they were children, she’d done it to annoy her sister because it had been easy to get a rise out of her that way. And now, even though Arya would still sometimes bat her hand away, it was a sign of affection.

“Well, enjoy your one night of good sleep here, then, because that’s all you get,” she repeated, her voice as firm as possible because she _meant it_ , before she rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes. “You’re lucky I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to get all sappy,” Arya’s voice was gruff the way Sansa knew it got when her sister was sleepy and when she had emotional cues to meet that she didn’t always want to say aloud. It was enough to make her smile a bit. A few seconds beat by in silence, a calming silence, as she felt Arya shuffle around a bit in bed the way she did when she tried to get comfortable, before her sister’s voice was soft as she said, “And… I guess… I missed you, too.”

Despite the tension she’d felt with Margaery’s leaving, she couldn’t help but let it melt away a bit as her smile became a little bit bigger, “Goodnight, Arya. I’m glad you’re home.”

Her sister _hmm_ ’d back and Sansa felt her settle under the covers a bit more, “G’night Sans.”

With a deep breath, she willed herself to relax, and cuddled under the blanket more, before she heard Arya groan, “Seven Hells, you two were having sex _here_ , right in your damn bed, weren’t you?”

Even though her cheeks blushed again, Sansa laughed, “Don’t be such a drama queen… there’s a different sheet on. But feel free to move to the couch – you’re more than welcome.”

Arya huffed and kicked out her legs – a move that made Sansa wince, because her sister would soon be kicking her legs out in her sleep and inevitably hitting Sansa and causing pain – before she hit her palms against the mattress. Her voice was defeated, “Meh. I’m in a traveling kickboxing company with a bunch of guys. I’ve been in grosser places.”

An exasperated, tired chuckle slipped out of her, and even though she still had that _feeling_ of worry low in her stomach, wondering around Margaery, even though she knew Arya would inevitably make for an uncomfortable time once she fell asleep, having her sister there was a comforting presence.

Within the next few minutes, she fell asleep.

~/~/~

The next morning found her knocking on Dr. Lannister’s office door, unconsciously fidgeting with the strap of her backpack as it was slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t fallen asleep until nearly three, after everything that had happened, and her alarm had woken her up at six, given that she’d had one of her last finals to take at eight.

The final had been a written thesis about a common theme in the works they’d read this semester, and Sansa had just about filled up the pages of the bluebook in the two and a half hours she’d been given to complete it. But, at least it was done now, and all she had left to do before she went home for the holidays in less than a week was help grade Dr. Lannister’s finals.

Still, despite the relief she felt at the fact that she was nearly done, she couldn’t help but desperately wish for a tea and possibly a nap. The already sparing three hours she’d gotten of sleep had been even worse because of the fact that, true to form, Arya had started kicking once she’d truly fallen asleep.

Sansa already had bruises forming on her legs.

The only good news she’d gotten this morning came when she’d been tiredly drinking her tea, and she’d seen that her jacket was gone. The one that Margaery had stolen from her. Well, granted, she’d left it at Margaery’s that first night. But Margaery had been keeping it from her, deliberately! Wearing it herself.

Wearing _Sansa’s_ jacket. And Sansa would be lying if it hadn’t made a rush of excitement go through her, warming her chest and her cheeks the previous night when she’d realized that Margaery was wearing her clothes.

It was nice, to have that. To share something easy like that. And while she was serious about the fact that it was her favorite jacket and she _did_ want it back… she couldn’t help but smile when she’d seen that Margaery had taken it with her when she’d left last night.

Maybe it was dumb, but it was a little thrill of that faux-battle of ownership of that jacket with Margaery and she was looking forward to it. Especially if it brought about more moments like last night.

Beyond that, though, it made Sansa’s lingering worries that something had gone wrong – aside from the Arya-obvious – with Margaery dissipate. Because Margaery had still taken the jacket with her, along with Margaery’s actual winter jacket. Which meant that she couldn’t really be all that upset about anything between the two of them, right?

“Miss Stark, come in,” Dr. Lannister’s voice called out, and broke her from her thoughts.

Shaking her head slightly, she pushed open the office door. It was an imposing space, but warmly filled with books and maps, and after working for Dr. Lannister for a few years, she was familiar with it.

She offered her professor a small smile and wave as she made her way to one of the chairs opposite the desk where he sat, putting her backpack and jacket down on the empty seat next to her.

Despite the fact that she _knew_ she hadn’t done anything wrong, she couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. It brought her back to the one time she’d been called to the principal’s office in school to get into trouble. The one time, because consistently throughout her childhood, Sansa had been determined to be perfect, especially in school. It had been somewhat of an all-out Stark fight – well, herself, Arya and Bran, given that Robb and Jon had both graduated at that point – when a few kids had picked on her brother.

She hadn’t initially joined in the mess, but then… well, she’d been drawn in. And though she didn’t regret it, she would never forget the feeling of shame that curled low in her stomach when she’d been handed her detention.

With a deep breath to try to quell those nerves, she pressed her hands into her lap, “Hi, Dr. Lannister. Did you get the email I sent you? With the potential essay questions for the final?”

“Ah, yes, expedient and intelligent work as always,” he nodded at her somewhat distractedly as he started to flip through the files he had resting on his desk, “I trust your finals are going well?”

Her smile was a bit easier now as she relaxed a bit into her chair; in the past, the few times she’d done something Dr. Lannister was unhappy with, his meetings were short and to the point. A bit sharp at moments, but he didn’t mince words when it came to his expectations and she appreciated that.

“They are; I actually took my last one just now,” she tilted her head slightly, trying to peer at whatever it seemed that he was looking for on his desk, her interest piqued, “Do you… I’m sorry, Dr. Lannister, but is there something else that you need for me to do before the semester is over?”

His forehead crinkled slightly in thought before he snapped his fingers and opened the top drawer in his desk, pulling out another file, “Actually, yes. Sansa, you know that typically, I’ve gone through TA’s in my past fairly frequently, correct?”

More confused, especially because his voice took on a familiar, loftily I-know-things-you-don’t-know tone, Sansa nodded, “Um, yes, I do.”

She was well aware that Dr. Lannister was known as a fairly demanding professor to work for. He asked for a lot of students who worked for him, and when they made a mistake, he was quick to point it out. And, sometimes, continue to point it out, even if it was joking. He’d had TA’s who hadn’t even last full semesters in the past.

It was somewhat of a point of pride that Sansa had with herself.

“In the time you’ve spent working with me, you’ve typically surpassed my expectations – which is not an easy feat to accomplish. Your writing is thoughtful and engaging, your editing is impeccable, you’re organized, timely, and adaptable,” he tapped his fingers against the file, and gave her a sharp smile, “You’ve managed to make me a little disappointed to have to find a new idiot to replace you next year.”

Surprised, wide blue eyes blinked back at him for a moment before a smile bloomed over her face. Still, though, she didn’t quite understand, “Thank you? I mean, thank you, professor, that is actually high praise coming from you. But… I’m not quite sure what you – is this some sort of holiday present?”

It was the only thing she could think to guess about. Dr. Lannister wasn’t often one to sing the praises of someone else; even when he’d given her a compliment in the past, it was a quick one.

The incredulous look he shot at her was almost comforting with how typical it was, “You must have very low standards for gifts if my stating facts about your abilities counts as a present.” His mouth quirked in a smile, though, and he shook his head, “No, that’s not a gift. It is however, me leading up to the question: what are your plans for post-graduation? You’ll have a graduate degree from one of the finest universities in not only the nation, but the world, and I’ve yet to get a request from you for a recommendation for your next job. Which either means you don’t have definite plans or you don’t plan on asking me for one. If it’s the latter, I assure you that for all my many faults, my word in our field is still a good one.”

Sansa flushed as she quickly shook her head in denial, “No, it’s not – I’d be honored to have your recommendation, Dr. Lannister. It’s just, I haven’t… I’m not sure what I’m going to do in May.”

Her words came out more flustered than she usually was with her professors, and it made her flush even more in embarrassment. Because Sansa had always been a planner; she’d always known what her next step was. But she hadn’t been able to plan her next move yet, not exactly.

It scared her, more than she wanted to admit.

Dr. Lannister was watching her closely, perceptively, before he asked, “What is it that you plan to do for a career? I’m sure that regardless of how good you are at working as my assistant, that isn’t the life you’ve planned on.”

“I – no, it’s not. I want…” she trailed off for a moment, feeling her cheeks burn slightly and she curled her hands into fists, speaking slowly, “I’d like to write, I think, but I know that isn’t just something you can fall into,” well, Sansa knew that she could potentially have certain connections to do so, but she didn’t necessarily feel comfortable with that. She toyed with the ends of her hair that were over her shoulder, before she took a deep breath, “And doing this, working with you, has also made me think that maybe I’d like to be a professor? But… I’m not entirely sure that I’d like to jump right into a doctoral program next year. I want a little break from school, I think, so I’m not – I just don’t know what the next step is,” she admitted, uneasily.

Whenever this had been brought up with her family in the past few months, she was met with the simple reassurance that _you can do anything you put your mind to_ – which was nice and comforting, because she knew her family members actually thought that. But it wasn’t particularly helpful.

She knew that her family would be there to help her and support her no matter what, and her mother’s subtle intonations that she could always move home if she wanted to while she figured everything out reminded her that she did have somewhere to go should she truly need it.

But it was… difficult, in a way that she wasn’t sure how to discuss with anyone in her family, despite how close they were. When she’d been younger, she’d dreamed mostly about being nonsensical things, like a princess. She’d had day dreams and fantasies of falling in love, being swept off her feet. Maybe seeing the world. That – at least her most romantic fantasies – had been curbed after disillusionment.

School, though, had always been good for her, good to her; she liked the environment, she had the motivation to do well, studying and writing papers came naturally to her. She enjoyed it.

However, simply being smart, being good in school weren’t the biggest helpers when it seemed like everyone in her family had a calling. Her parents both had their lives carved out, Robb had always wanted to be just like their father, Jon had quietly gone up to the far North easily and decisively, Arya had been in all types of sports – including kickboxing – matches since middle school, Bran was practically a bona fide genius. He was years younger than she was and already working on technology that made her head spin.

Sansa… liked to read, she liked to write. She enjoyed working as a TA, the college environment. Grading, helping to create assignments, editing papers.

But it was also all she knew, right now. That had been the environment she’d built for herself, and she liked it. But following that enjoyment hadn’t led her down a path of clear vision for her future.

The look she was met with on Dr. Lannister’s face when she bit her lip and looked over at him wasn’t judging or even that gently mocking one he sometimes wore. Instead, it was considering, “I’d say that writing or teaching would both be within your reach, if that’s what you want. And, not to _brag_ ,” the look he shot her now was somewhat mocking, but it worked to make the tension in her shoulders loosen a bit, “But that is somewhat along the lines of what I was thinking.”

Surprised, and flattered, she gave him a wide-eyed look, “Really?”

He picked up the file he’d found earlier, and tapped it once against the desk, before holding it out to her, “I think this is something you should consider.”

Interested, intrigued, she reached out, grasping the file and flipping it open. And she narrowed her eyes in confusion, “The Archives of Volantis?” she skimmed over the top of the first page, before glancing back at her professor, “You think I should… visit the Archives of Volantis?”

Not that she would be opposed to doing so, it was somewhere she’d always been curious about, but – still.

The look he gave her was one of patented impatience, “You think I would recommend to you to visit the Archives? Not visit, Ms. Stark, but _intern_.”

Almost with a mind of their own, her fingers flipped to the next page, and she drew her gaze back down. Indeed, there was the first page of an internship application, and she shook her head, murmuring, “I… I didn’t even know that there were internships there.”

The Archives of Volantis were world-renowned and one of the biggest drawing points for one of the oldest cities in the world. Literature – dating farther back than they could truly name, from all over the world – was kept there. Archived, put into displays. They were copied and edited for newer editions to be published and distributer. Artworks were there as well – some of the greatest and most memorable pieces of art that the known world had could be found there.

“They offer ten internships every year. It lasts for four months, with five interns of their choice staying on for an additional three. You’d get paid a stipend, small but fair. They provide housing. And you work with some of the masterpieces we know in our time; it’s quite an opportunity. But, it’s all there,” he gestured back to the file in her hands, which seemed even bigger now with the realness of its meaning right there in her hands.

Both heavier and lighter somehow, and she looked back at it in wonder, “You think _I_ should apply?” she asked, hearing the incredulity of her own tone but unable to help it.

Because she might be a good student, might even be a great TA, but… she wasn’t necessarily special enough for a prestigious internship.

Dr. Lannister merely lifted an eyebrow in derision, “I think you’d do very well there, actually, and it would certainly reflect well on you should you choose to become a doctoral candidate for a professorship.”

Sansa’s mouth fell open in amazement for a moment, as she flitted her eyes back down to the file, momentarily speechless as her mind tried to take it all in.

It didn’t seem to matter to Dr. Lannister, though, who pushed back from his desk, “Well, I’ve got a lunch date to attend to. The application is due by the end of the week; I apologize for the late notice, but… well, you have it now.”

She slowly closed the file, stroking her fingertips over it thoughtfully even as her mind spun with possibilities, “I – thank you, Dr. Lannister.”

He shrugged, “If you _do_ choose to apply, I have a recommendation already written.”

The approving smile he gave her got one in return as she gathered her items and stood, holding the file tightly to her chest, “I’ll see you in a few days for your final.”

Two hours later, Sansa had commandeered her usual table at Topped Off. When Jeyne had started working at the coffee shop, Sansa had become one of the regulars, and the table in the corner at the front window was her favorite. It provided natural light and some seclusion, not too much exposure to the windows to be a distraction. It was small enough that Sansa didn’t feel like she was taking up too much space when she sat there by herself, but large enough for her to be able to spread her work out.

Currently, it was covered with the papers from the file Dr. Lannister had provided for her. In the file there was the application, as well as all of the details about the program, not to mention testimonies.

Luckily, Jeyne had worked until closing last night and wasn’t working until later this afternoon. If she’d been working, Sansa didn’t think she would have as much clarity of mind to be able to think about all of this the way she needed to.

By “it’s due by the end of the week” her professor truly meant “it’s due in four days.” Which was far faster than Sansa had ever made such a big decision in her life. When she’d been making the choice about which university to go to, she’d had options in the North, the Riverlands, and King’s Landing, and she’d poured over the decision for weeks. Even when she’d had to make the decision about which school to do her graduate degree at, there had only been two options and still the deliberation had taken weeks.

But this? She had to decide within a day if she wanted to complete her application and her written piece done on time.

The indecision warred inside of her, exacerbated by the feeling of being _rushed_. Her parents, she knew, would both worry for her, being alone in another country. They even worried for Arya, who could very well defend herself, who also traveled with a professional kickboxing company.

And there was a part of her that said… maybe she didn’t want to ask her family and friends for advice. That maybe she should just apply – or not – and do this on her own. Decide her future without the input of anyone else to figure out what she wanted.

She knew her siblings would have various ranges of excitement and worry. She knew that Jeyne would flip out – in both good and bad ways. She knew that Mya would tell her to go for it. She knew what everyone else would say, but not herself.

Biting her bottom lip and running her fingertip absently around the top of her mug of tea in thought, she leaned over the table and skimmed her eyes over another of the papers with the finite details, yet again. And then tapped her pen against the pro/con column she’d loosely written out so far.

_Pros – travel, new experiences, amazing learning possibilities, Archives of Volantis!, looks good on resume, improve skills_

_Cons – would be alone/no support system, Jeyne/apartment/rent? Guilt for leaving, begins only days after graduation – would have to go almost immediately after, leaving Margaery…_

The last one gave her pause, and she’d been reluctant to write it down at all, but it was… well, it was legitimate. Not that they were together, of course, but she was enjoying them. Enjoying what they were and their friendship, and that would certainly be coming to an end if she left. Maybe not their actual friendship – which was new in and of itself – but definitely the sex. There was no such thing as long distance friends with benefits, Sansa knew that much.

And –

“What are you concentrating so hard on there?” the woman in question voice came from right next to her, making her jump as her heart pounded in her chest.

Blue eyes widened and she scrambled quickly to pull all of her papers together, hoping that Margaery didn’t actually see her name on the pro/con list. She didn’t want her to… take it the wrong way.

She moved so quickly, she nearly knocked over her mug of tea, which wobbled slightly before Margaery reached out and steadied it. And only then did Sansa take a deep breath and turned to look up at her, taking in the look of amusement she was receiving. And, as very nearly always, inhaled sharply as she took her in. Perfect brown curls cascaded over Margaery’s shoulder, contrasting with the white peacoat she wore over one of her form-fitting dresses.

Always perfectly put together, and enough to make Sansa’s heart pound.

It was this, juxtaposed with the fact that she knew what Margaery looked like as she got out of her bed in the early hours of the morning that stole her breath for a few seconds as Margaery sat down across from her.

“Margaery! What are you doing here? I thought you had a busy day today?” she _knew_ Margaery had a busy day today, given that Cersei’s interview had come out the day before.

An eyebrow arched up in response, and Margaery hummed in affirmation, “I’ve had two meetings with my team already, and had just enough time to run out for a coffee break,” she held out her to-go cup as if to show Sansa _see_ , “And I saw you here, looking a little – frankly, a little distressed. So, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to know that you’re all right?”

The considering look on Margaery’s face told Sansa that there was something going on in her mind, but Sansa hadn’t a clue what it was. Not that she afforded that much time at the moment to question it, but still.

She frowned; had she looked that upset? Well, she supposed it wasn’t odd; she was stressed about it all.

“Not to mention, I saw my own name written down on a paper you were looking at, so naturally I thought to inquire,” Margaery’s voice was light and teasing, and she tossed Sansa one of those winks she was so good at.

Her cheeks flushed horribly as she cleared her throat and quickly pushed the papers back into the file as she explained slowly, “I just – well, there’s an opportunity,” she settled on, tasting the word on her tongue, “Dr. Lannister told me about it today. And I’m just… I’m wondering about whether or not I should apply for it.”

Dark eyebrows came together and Sansa could tell from the expression on Margaery’s face that she was waiting for _more_.

With a deep breath, she drummed her fingers against the table for a moment, “It’s at the Archives of Volantis.”

Honeyed brown eyes searched her own before a small smile came over her face, “Sansa, that would be an amazing experience. Especially given how much you love literature.”

Margaery’s words affirmed one of the things she’d already been thinking herself. Of course she _knew_ it would be an amazing experience, and that she loved literature, and that there was no better option she could imagine for having access to classic arts.

Still…

“I’d be gone for at least four months – maybe even a little more,” she spoke slowly, unable to stop her gaze from flickering from her file and up across the table to Margaery, watching her as closely as she could.

Because maybe Sansa truly was reading into things between them; maybe she was the only one out of the two of them that would miss… _this_. This closeness they’d developed, faster than she ever had with anyone else in the past. This feeling that settled warmly and heavily in the pit of her stomach whenever she was with her or even spoke to her.

So she watched intently – maybe _too_ intently – as Margaery’s eyes widened _just a bit_ as they looked back at the file in Sansa’s hands. And listened too intently to the seconds that drifted by between them in silence, her heart beating a little faster.

Because it was possible that she wasn’t the only one who felt this way, despite the fact that they had their _arrangement_.

Then Margaery cleared her throat, “I understand being reluctant to leave for months, but… if it’s something you want, I absolutely think you should,” there was a sincerity in her eyes as she met Sansa’s gaze with her own. Something else flickered there, too, she thought, but then it was gone.

And she quirked her lips up, forcing a smile, as that little balloon inside of her that said maybe she wasn’t the only one who anticipated seeing as far as their friends with benefits could possibly take them deflated.

It wasn’t anything to truly be disappointed about, she knew. Because… they were _friends_ and that was their deal, but there was still that small seed inside of her of _what if_ that had been forming. The small seed that sank a little lower especially with Margaery telling her that she should go for it, meaning… their friends with benefits arrangement would be over. Sansa’s learning experience with Margaery would then have a deadline.

Shaking her head slightly, telling herself not to read too much into anything, she sighed, “I don’t know if I’d go, anyway. I mean, we both know the Archives are prestigious. And they only accept ten interns every year from across the world; I mean, more interns work at the Red Keep! I really might not even be accepted.”

Another one of her worries.

Margaery’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment in confusion as she took a sip and watched Sansa over her coffee cup. She watched Margaery’s lips as she swallowed, rubbing her hands against her thighs as Margaery tilted her head to the side, giving Sansa one of her patented knowing looks, “Sansa, that’s absolutely ridiculous. I mean, not even mentioning who your parents are – which, I know you wouldn’t use, but it would be foolish to think they wouldn’t play a role. But Dr. Lannister, if I’m not mistaken, is a huge benefactor to the Archives, so if he thinks you should apply, then I have no doubt how highly he thinks of you. Plus, of course, I’ve read some of your papers, and they’re brilliant. You shouldn’t doubt yourself like that,” Margaery lightly chastised, and that genuine tone she had made warmth blossom inside of her.

Especially when Margaery reached out to brush her fingertips over the backs of Sansa’s. It was comforting, but also made her shiver, and she couldn’t help but smile. For real, this time.

“Thank you,” she murmured back, and resisted the urge to turn her hand and hold Margaery’s that still rested over hers. Barely.

And Margaery shrugged, as if her praise was nothing. Then again, sometimes Margaery said and did things like that – sweet things – and thought nothing of them, “It’s just the truth.”

She sat like that for a moment, and the thoughts that had been bombarding her before slipped away, giving her some clarity that she found she very much wanted. Needed. And she breathed easier with Margaery sitting with her, with a curious little head tilt that made Sansa wonder what was on her mind.

Even so, the lingering worry she’d still wondered about from last night melted away, and she only felt the slightest bit of want to ask Margaery about it, but for once she managed to keep her words to herself. And she was only the slightest bit disappointed when Margaery gently squeezed her hand and pulled back to wrap around her coffee cup.

With a quirk of an eyebrow she took another sip of her coffee, and long, elegant fingers tapped it before Margaery asked, “So, I see that Jeyne isn’t working right now. Were you planning on… meeting someone?”

Confused, Sansa leaned back and looked around, before giving Margaery a self-deprecating smile, “Like who?” she only had a handful of friends that she saw on a regular basis, including Arya, and by now Margaery knew all of them.

The shrug Margaery gave her was perfunctory and light, as was her voice, “Oh, I don’t know. Mya… or Elia.”

For the life of her, she didn’t know why Margaery seemed to be watching her intently now, but Sansa could only give her a wondering glance as she shook her head, “No, I was just having somewhat of a crisis over this,” she sort-of joked as she gestured to the file. Now she leaned back slightly, as she asked, “Why?”

But Margaery only shrugged and easily waved her hand slightly in the air, “I was just wondering if I should expect someone to be wondering why I’m in their seat,” she teased, and Sansa grinned, before Margaery sighed and her eyes flickered up to the television in the corner, which – as usual – was airing the news. And given the current political situation, they were most likely discussing Cersei’s interview. It was as easy as that for her to see the way Margaery’s demeanor shifted and her shoulders straightened a bit, “I really should be getting back to the office, though. My lunch hour is cut to this coffee break, and even then, I really don’t have that much time.”

Sansa swallowed the bit of disappointment as she nodded, then paused as the thought occurred to her and she looked up in question “If you didn’t have that much time, why did you come all the way here for coffee?”

Because Sansa knew for a fact that there were at least two other coffee places closer to the Red Keep than Topped Off.

Margaery adjusted her jacket, her hands tugging at the bottom as if she looked anything other than completely put together at any moment that she’d been there. And her thoughtful gaze roamed the shop for a moment, before landing back on Sansa, “To be entirely honest with you, there’s something about this place that I really like,” was all she offered, “I’ve been stopping here for coffee on my lunch breaks for a few weeks now. Jeyne didn’t tell you?”

“She didn’t,” Sansa murmured, rolling her eyes slightly at her friend; they’d talked about Jeyne’s reluctance to accept Margaery as Sansa’s friend. Then she frowned, “She’s not… is she rude to you?”

Because Sansa truly loved Jeyne, but when she didn’t like someone or when she was being protective, Sansa knew her best friend could be a little much.

Margaery only rolled her eyes briefly, before offering a small smile, “She makes comments, but I’m not entirely certain she doesn’t make similar comments to half the people who come in here.”

It didn’t remove the frown on Sansa’s face.

“If I can’t handle a few comments from Jeyne that are at least coming from a good place, I’m in the wrong profession,” Margaery informed her, settling her hand on Sansa’s shoulder and squeezing a bit. “Good luck on your application, darling. I hope you get in.”

_I hope you get in._

The words gave her a confusing feeling of warmth and discontent, which she pushed away as she gave Margaery a smile. Margaery hesitated for a moment before leaving, her gaze dropping nearly unnoticeably to Sansa’s mouth. Sansa’s mouth parted in surprise and in a bit of want, but the moment ended soon, with a quick grin and the hand on her shoulder squeezing again before she turned to leave.

And Sansa watched until the door of the café closed behind her, unable to help herself, because she wondered how Margaery made things feel so off-balanced but also so _good_ so easily.

Shaking herself out of it, she quickly finished her tea before packing away her papers; she had to do some more research at home before she committed to applying completely. Within minutes, she stood and slung her bag over her shoulder, turning as she looked down and fished her phone out of her pocket.

Which caused her to walk right into someone, and she stumbled as she tightened her grip on her phone before it dropped to the floor and a hand came to her elbow. A hand that lingered for longer than was necessary, and she was already trying to politely shrug it off before she turned to see who it belonged to.

And was met with the smiling face of Mr. Baelish. Her shrugging became more insistent than polite until his hand dropped, but the small, knowing smile on his face didn’t. She met the smiling look on his face with a small one of her own that was barely more than a grimace

Despite the fact that she’d met him in several capacities throughout her life – as one of her mother’s childhood friends, as a businessman with some political ties – she’d never been able to shake the uneasy feeling he gave her.

Especially when he readily disliked most of her siblings, after Robb and Jon had come up with some unfortunate but funny nicknames for him, but always went out of his way to be kind to her. Even though he’d lived in King’s Landing since she’d moved here, she’d very successfully avoided him and his far too-lingering gaze.

“Sansa! Better watch where you’re going,” his voice was joking, but with that undercurrent of something _more_ that he too often had. It was somewhat reminiscent of Margaery’s knowing tone, but instead of being playful or enticing, it was unsettling.

“Right… sorry, Mr. Baelish,” she stepped backwards, before she remembered the manners her mother had drilled into her so much in her youth that they were irrevocably a part of her now, and she straightened her shoulders, “I don’t typically see you here?”

He took his eyes off of her and ran them around the establishment before lingering on the table she’d just been sitting at, and then back to her, “It’s not the sort of shop that typically entices me. I found myself in this area today, though, and saw something that drew my interest.”

There was that tone again, and Sansa had to work to school her features to not show her confusion.

Maybe he saw it anyway though, as he gestured to the Specials board behind the counter and added, “The blueberry coconut muffins.”

She looked up at the board in question and then back to his face, thinking about the last time she’d seen him. Or, well, heard him. At the fundraiser she’d attended with her father, where Baelish had met with Cersei, in a conversation that she truly had been confused about. And she was still slightly confused now, but… granted, that was the state of many of her interactions with the man.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you enjoy your snack. I should get going,” she offered a small, polite smile, and got a much warmer one in return with the sensation that she was missing something, “Have a nice holiday.”

He stepped back and nodded, smile still in place, “I’m sure it’ll be a cheerful time. Enjoy your day, Sansa.”

Even though that unsettled feeling remained, she tried to shake it off as she zipped up her jacket; Mr. Baelish had always been somewhat creepy and unsettling; that was who he was.

And at the moment, Sansa had other things to worry about. Like her potential internship on the other side of the world, removing her sister from her apartment, and texting her best friend to stop giving attitude to her – her Margaery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than a two month waiting period this time! Thankfully classes have ended for me for the semester almost, which hopefully means I won't have as long of a wait to write. Thank you so, so much for reading! Please let me know your thoughts!


	16. Of Exhaustion, Gifts, and Realizations

“You look absolutely dreadful. I can’t be the first person to tell you that,” it was her grandmother’s voice that jarred Margaery into blinking her eyes open.

It took her a moment to register where she was: reclined on the chaise in her grandmother’s office. Though it was still only the early afternoon and Margaery had a whole day ahead of her, really, her head was foggy – it had been since she’d woken up that morning. Even though Margaery wasn’t necessarily a “morning person” she also wasn’t someone to laze around in bed after her alarm went off.

There was too much to do.

As soon as she opened her eyes and took a few moments to adjust, her mind was already moving full-speed with the schedule of everything she had to do during the day. Earlier this morning, though, she’d woken slowly, groggily. It somewhat had felt like she was hearing her alarm from underwater.

It was only when she’d sluggishly made her way toward the shower that she fully _felt_ that there was a pounding inside of her head and the general soreness in her joints. Despite the glaring obviousness that something was wrong, she merely pushed herself to continue getting ready and made it to work only a few minutes behind schedule.

Because in all seriousness, Margaery didn’t have the time or patience to be feeling ill. Not right now. Not ever, honestly, but not right now especially.

Though as the morning had gone on, it because increasingly apparent that maybe there was a _slight_ chance she truly was getting sick. Because despite the fact that she’d chugged coffee, taken vitamins, and a small array of medicine after choking down some toast… she’d only felt worse.

Her sinuses had gradually felt fuller and heavier throughout the day and she was utterly exhausted. She’d hardly been able to keep her eyes open during the meeting she’d had with her campaign staff.

She supposed, if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t terribly shocking; her debate with Cersei was right around the corner and Margaery had been getting less sleep in the last week than the handful of hours she’d been managing for the last few months. But how was she supposed to sleep when there were questions and answers to practices, speeches to prepare, and debate strategies to perfect?

She’d had to wipe at watery eyes repeatedly – irritatingly – as she’d sat at her desk, which had prompted Renly to urge her to go home. And maybe she’d sniped at him a little more aggressively than she should have when she denied that she was feeling under the weather.

Which brought her back to the moment and she shook her head slightly at her grandmother in an attempt to clear it. And then she narrowed her eyes, as she sarcastically tossed back, “Wow, grandmother, thank you. It’s lovely to see you today, too,” even as her throat felt a bit scratchy.

Her rejoinder didn’t faze her grandmother at all – not that she’d expected it to – and Olenna raised both of her eyebrows as she ran her eyes over Margaery’s face critically, “You’ve got circles dark as night under your eyes and you’re paler than you should be; you’ve been early into work and late to leave, and I doubt your work stops when you go home. You shouldn’t be surprised that I keep note of these things.”

Margaery’s jaw set even as she sighed a bit. She wasn’t surprised that her grandmother took note of her work habits; she was, proudly, her prodigy.

Still, “I’m _fine_ ,” she stressed, sitting with her shoulders back.

It was a poor attempt at denial, though, and her grandmother was one of few people who could see through her on Margaery’s best day.

The older woman shot her one of her _looks_ ; a look that had made many diplomats wither before her. It made Margaery feel somewhat at home, in an odd way.

“If you are so _fine_ , what are you doing napping in my office in the middle of a work day?” Olenna questioned, her eyebrow winged up in that probing manner she’d mastered so well.

And then Margaery’s hands tightened slightly on the envelope in her grasp; her focus relegated to the reason she’d sought out her grandmother in the first place. Her fingers tapped over the elegantly embossed writing on the front as she deliberated for a moment.

With a sigh, she reached up and scooped her hair back, “I wanted to ask your advice. About this,” she added on and held up the envelope for good measure.

As though they were working in sync, her grandmother was already holding out her hand for Margaery to give her the envelope just as Margaery was giving it to her. Muffling a yawn – damn, she was sick of those today – she felt her stomach twist slightly as her grandmother pulled the contents out of the envelope.

The contents being an invitation.

An invitation that had arrived just after lunch, delivered with her other mail to the Department for the People. Amidst all of her work related mail that had been dropped to her desk, was a stylish envelope that had drawn her attention.

An envelope that held a formal invitation. To the annual Stark Family New Years Eve event – personally inviting Margaery to spend the evening in Winterfell.

Honeyed brown eyes tracked her grandmother’s facial expression as she took in the invitation before meeting Margaery’s gaze. It was validating to know that they were of the same mindset. Because she’d first sought out Renly, given that his office was so close to her own. And he’d been more oblivious about it than she’d have liked, questioning why getting an invitation to a holiday party merited any extra thought.

But her grandmother’s knowledgeable eyes met hers, that wise spark as evident as it was in her tone as she tapped the invitation against her leg, “Well. It would seem that you have been given quite the opportunity.”

Quite the opportunity, indeed. Because as anyone in their field – with Margaery’s ambition, anyway – should know, the Stark New Year’s Eve event was really the _only_ gathering of all prominent northern politicians in one place wherein other notable figures in the community also were.

Primarily northerners, but with a healthy smattering of Who’s Who from the Vale and the Riverlands as well. But for anyone – let alone a _politician_ – to be invited from anywhere farther south than that was extremely rare.

It was, in theory, a networking heaven, given that the group of people there were typically a group who were fairly unreachable to break into and gain the trust of.

“I know,” she replied slowly, and was even more irritated that her head felt a little cloudy at the moment. She needed to be able to process this from all fronts.

“I haven’t even been granted one of these, my dear girl,” Olenna added, a slight mocking tone in her voice. Margaery knew well enough that it was directed not to her but toward the Starks, and that affiliated group in general, for having ranks so closed and “exclusive” that not even the Prime Minister was invited as courtesy.

But it made her scoff out a laugh and hold her hand out for the invitation to be given back, “I know,” she echoed herself.

Her grandmother shook her head before she spoke, voice questioning in that impatient way she had, “If you know what a rare opportunity you’ve been given, I’m afraid I fail to see why you’ve sought out my council.”

Margaery’s stomach knotted, and not because she was feeling less than in perfect health. But because the way her name stared up at her from underneath _Ned and Catelyn Stark invite you_. Ned and Catelyn Stark. Invite her, Margaery Tyrell. To their _home_. To their holiday party that was so exclusive not even her grandmother – the prime minister, who had known and interacted cordially with Ned Stark for years – had garnered an invitation.

Her eyebrows drew together slightly, before she purposefully smoothed them out. Though it was fruitless, because she – first of all – knew that her grandmother would astutely notice any sort of pinched expression the second it was on her face. And, secondly, because Margaery wasn’t typically in the business of hiding things from her grandmother.

How did one hide something from the woman who taught her everything she knew, who also coincidentally happened to be the woman who knew everything?

Still, though. It wasn’t as though she discussed her more… personal matters with her grandmother very often. Not that she felt that she couldn’t; but it wasn’t necessary. She’d figured out her best course of action years ago, and she knew that her grandmother implicitly agreed with her.

So the words were difficult to form on her tongue. More difficult than words usually were between herself and the woman she considered her personal hero, “I’m… wary of the reasoning behind why I was given the invitation.”

It was vague, she knew, and didn’t fully lay out her full feelings on the matter.

“You must have made quite the impression on the honorable Ned Stark during his visit a few months ago,” Olenna shot back lightly, with a _tone_ in her voice, as she lifted the cup of tea she’d returned to her office wife and leaned back in the chair opposite Margaery. That knowing gaze was on her again.

And it was a gaze that a very small handful of people could give to Margaery that made her feel like she was truly transparent. By handful, it was truly just this one person.

“I’m not… entirely certain that’s the reason I was given the invitation,” she admitted, biting her lip thoughtfully, debating what to add on.

It wasn’t as though she wanted to say _I think I’ve made far more of an impression on Catelyn Stark as her daughter’s friend – friend who I’m sleeping with, not that she hopefully knows that – than I did on Ned Stark as a politician_.

Though Margaery knew Sansa hadn’t told her mother about the true nature of their relationship, she also knew that Catelyn was a smart woman. A smart woman who was very close to her daughter who was not a good liar, who recently came out to her. She simply had been letting herself believe that nothing farther had come from the inferences she could have made.

She was saved, though, from figuring out how to voice her thoughts as her grandmother sipped again from her tea before nodding and waving her hand, “You were invited because of your… _friendship_ with the Stark girl.”

It took a moment – just a moment – for the words to settle in Margaery’s cloudy mind, and she stared at her grandmother, “Well, yes,” she spoke slowly, though she wasn’t truly sure why she was surprised by her grandmother knowing about her particular friendship with Sansa.

Her grandmother knew everything.

She knew everything and she had this little air of amusement with that revealing of her knowledge. It sparkled in her eye right now, and Margaery huffed out a breath from her mouth – annoyingly, her nose was almost completely stuffed – falling back into the chaise once more, loathe to admit that it made her entire body feel relieved.

Honestly, it was best, though, that her grandmother had just come out and said it. Because, frankly, Margaery wasn’t in the business of trying to keep secrets from Olenna and even if she was, she certainly didn’t have the energy for it right now.

“I didn’t make quite the impact on Ned Stark as I had hoped to make when he’d visited a few months ago,” she reflected, rubbing her hand over her forehead and grimacing slightly. Despite knowing that it was her best chance at attempting to win the Northern vote in her favor, she hadn’t had the time she wished she could have had during his time.

Not to mention, she’d been a bit preoccupied with the whole Sansa-being-Ned-Stark’s-daughter aspect of it all.

Her gaze fell to the invitation and narrowed as she continued, “So, though I’m not in any sort of formal… relationship with Sansa, I think that I’ve garnered a bit of interest from some members of the Stark family because of all this.”

And even though her thought process hadn’t been it’s best today, she’d had enough time to contemplate that. That even without the details laid out, Sansa’s family, her parents – her _father_ , a politician whose support she was hoping for – knew she was involved in his daughter’s life.

Yet, it surprisingly didn’t make her feel that alarmingly uncomfortable tightness low in her stomach that she’d felt in the past. The need to smooth everything out perfectly, to assure herself that her private life remained absolutely _private_ , as she had experienced in the past wasn’t overwhelmingly present.

She thought it was because of the way Sansa had told her so much about her family – had told her handfuls of stories about the comfort of Catelyn and the steady warmth from Ned. It assured Margaery, especially now that Sansa had come out to her parents, that if the honorable Northern politician knew about her – well, they were now one less faction for her to worry about.

And really, maybe it was just because she trusted Sansa that she didn’t think anything negative would come of it.

Still…

It wasn’t as though she wanted for her particular friendship with Sansa to be under a microscope – a microscope of not only Ned and Catelyn Stark, but the whole Stark family and extended politicians as well – _that_ was enough to make her stomach turn a bit, admittedly. Enough that she purposefully stopped herself from thinking about it.

And turned her attention to the more pressing matter, as she admitted, “I’m… reluctant to accept an invitation gained not through my own merit.”

If her friendship with Sansa was nonexistent and she’d received this elusive invite, she would be thrilled and would have already confirmed her attendance. A perfect time to network, to build strong political ties in a setting that few people were granted, earned by her work ethic and policy ideas.

That would be a dream.

But that _wasn’t_ the case, and it was giving her a sour taste in her mouth. Margaery was fortunate to have been born to her family. She was more than fortunate to be raised with and learn from her grandmother. But Margaery had also worked tirelessly to make all of her aspirational gains come to fruition.

Nothing in her position had been handed to her or afforded to her because of her name or affiliation before. And she took a certain pride in that.

This invitation was an opportunity, of course, one that not many were afforded. But it also rankled and sat heavily on her shoulders with the almost certain knowledge that she’d been granted this opportunity not because of herself but because of her affiliation with someone else.

“I thought that might be the case,” Olenna thoughtfully set down her cup with a sharp _clink_ , before she shook her head, “And you know I’m not one to dance around stating my opinion.”

“Certainly not something you’ve been known for,” Margaery interjected, unable to stop a small smile at the way her grandmother scoffed at her.

“So, I’ll tell you that regardless of the reason you received this invitation, you would be an idiot to miss it. As it is, the Starks are far more likely to act as though they have no idea about their suspicions than to actually ask if you’ve corrupted their oldest daughter in bed,” she added derisively, “Given that, you’ve no reason to not attend and win those Northerners over.”

Margaery found her grandmother’s words ringing true, despite the fact that she was still left with an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. Nerves, maybe, but she had no idea what in the seven hells she would be nervous about.

It was a social engagement, filled with politicians and business owners and other prominent members of society; that was right in Margaery’s wheelhouse. She pursed her lips as she looked back down at the invitation.

Maybe it was the fact that she was… _ill_ – gods, she hated admitting to it even in her own mind – that was leaving her stomach with that feeling.

And she squared her shoulders before nodding, “Simply because _this_ invitation isn’t based on my own repute doesn’t mean future ones won’t be.”

Not after she made a favorable impression on the people in attendance this year, anyway, and subsequently – hopefully – won this election. Now, it just had to be her mission to accept and gain favor.

Her grandmother nodded, a look of approval that Margaery had basked in from an early age on her features, “That’s the idea.” She was contemplative for a moment, aiming a look at Margaery that set off an alarm bell before her grandmother even asked, “And what does your Stark girl have to say about this invitation?”

Margaery’s eyebrows rose on her forehead as her stomach churned slightly at the term _your Stark girl_ – and it wasn’t, she found, a feeling that was making her feel even more sick… but it was… unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Many things with Sansa were like that. Unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable but in a way that wasn’t… necessarily that bad.

“She’s not…” She met her grandmother’s gaze, though, taking a deep breath as she held steady as she shook her head, “I haven’t discussed it with Sansa,” she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to, honestly.

She hadn’t seen Sansa very much in the last few days, anyway. She’d run into her in Topped Off – after that disastrous meeting with Arya, yet another factor in this whole Stark event – four days ago, making that Pro/Con list about whether or not she should apply for that internship in Volantis.

The fact that Margaery saw her own name on the con list… well, it gave her a jolt of nerves. Not that she really should think overly into it, really, because in the brief moments she’d had to skim the list over Sansa’s shoulder before alerting her to her presence, she’d also seen Jeyne’s name on that list. It didn’t necessarily have to be in a romantic sense.

And yet, it was a strong enough feeling that it had helped her to urge Sansa to apply. It _was_ a good opportunity and Sansa should apply for it regardless of whoever was on the con list, and Margaery truly did believe that.

At her very core, she believed that no one should give up any opportunity they wanted for anyone else; she knew that she had no intention of ever doing so.

And if the thought of Sansa leaving for four months, or more, gave her a throat-tightening pause, Margaery couldn’t let herself get caught up on that. Sansa was, regardless of what else she currently was, her closest friend outside of her family. Of course she didn’t _want_ her to be not around.

She would miss that. She would miss their physical relationship. It was all something she didn’t want to look _too_ closely at, especially not when she had so much else to focus on at the moment. If Sansa was accepted – and Margaery was sure she would be, because Sansa was intelligent and charming, far more than she even gave herself credit for – and subsequently decided to go, she would deal with it as it happened.

Deal with it and be absolutely fine; friends were friends despite the distance. Even if, granted, Margaery was very much used to having Sansa around. Frankly, it was an entire thing that Margaery did not want to think about.

And because this debate was happening so soon and Margaery felt this immense pressure sitting on her shoulders from it, she didn’t really have time to think about it anyway.

She stood up and walked to her desk, running a finger down her agenda, before she turned back to face Margaery, her face solemn, “The fact of the matter is this, my dear girl: nothing was handed me on my political rise. I was underestimated and overlooked far too often. Something I’ve learned is that when you’re given an opportunity, typically there are two reasons: either someone wants something in return and you must be cautious, or in rare moments, you’ve hit a spot of fortune. In those rare times that leave you beholden to no one…” she trailed off, tilting her head meaningfully.

And Margaery picked up on all that was unspoken and nodded, “Then you’d be an idiot not to take advantage of it. _I’d_ be an idiot not to,” she finished with a murmur and then a sigh as she smoothed her fingers over the invitation, before leaning down and slipping it into her purse.

Olenna nodded slightly, before she got a warm look on her face; a look that Margaery recognized as rare, as her grandmother was often of the mindset that the people she was dealing with were fools. She was one of the very few people granted with this particularly fond look and she relished in it.

“You know what else you’d be an idiot to do?” she posed the question harshly, but the softness was in her gaze as she walked close enough to press her hand to the top of Margaery’s head, “You’d be a fool to not go home to recuperate from this before it gets any worse.”

It took effort for Margaery not to roll her eyes or pout, and that alone was enough to tell her that she truly _was_ experiencing a cold; this exhaustion was getting to her and truly… she wanted to lounge back on the chaise again and rest her eyes so badly it was impossible to ignore.

Even so, she took a deep breath and shook her head in refusal, “I can’t; I have a department meeting this afternoon with Renly and some paperwork to catch up on besides. This isn’t the time to be taking things easy; my debate with Cersei is in less than a week.”

Her mouth snapped shut as her grandmother tapped her smartly on the chin, “Your debate is in less than a week, and you need to be recovered enough so that you aren’t looking like you crawled out of a Flea Bottom sewer live on camera. And your debate is exactly my point; you’re working yourself into exhaustion over it.”

The Flea Bottom comparison made Margaery frown; there was no way she looked _that_ bad.

“Besides, dear, you have a big future ahead of you – do you know how many sick days you’ll wish you could take? I was in the office –”

“Less than a week after you had surgery on your knee. I know,” Margaery finished with a small smile, tilting her head back to look at her grandmother. She’d been at her side as much as her grandmother would allow during that time; acting as a somewhat intern during her summer break in high school.

And damn if she hadn’t admired her grandmother for going to work during that time.

Angling her head up, she aimed her questioning look at her grandmother, “Doesn’t that, really, mean that I _should_ be working through the pain, so to speak?”

“It means that I have the utmost faith that you will be in my position one day. You _will_ be on the small council and you will one day be the Prime Minister; so I’m telling you now, my rose, take a day off to be sick and feel better while you can afford to,” her tone was firm and knowing, but affectionate in that way she had for her family. For Margaery in particular.

Still, a part of her resisted. Even though her limbs felt heavy and her head felt too full. With a small sigh, she suppressed a yawn and forced herself to stand up, “Perhaps I will this afternoon, grandmother. Maybe I’ll leave a little early; just… after my department meeting.”

That would work. She would do as much paperwork as she could manage after downing some more ibuprofen when she was back at her desk and make it through the meeting. But, for once, she wouldn’t stay late.

Compromise.

Her grandmother sighed, but Margaery didn’t miss the small smile she had. It made her feel as good as she could feel at this moment, she thought. Assured her that she was making the right choice.

Olenna gave her hand a small squeeze, “I’ll see you on Sunday for afternoon tea; we’ll review debate points together. Now, rest tonight,” she directed.

Margaery grinned back; as much as her schedule had been busy and as much as she’d had going on in her personal life… she’d missed having her grandmother while she’d been away for the past few weeks in Dorne. Regardless of how important her business dealing was, Margaery had missed her.

As she left her grandmother’s offices, she heard Olenna impatiently call for one of her assistants to get in there to disinfect the surfaces with anti-bacterial wipes, which only made her grin even more.

She walked a bit slower than usual back to the Department for the People. It… admittedly was because when she walked at her typical brisk pace, the world seemed like it was spinning a little _too_ fast.

She was seriously considering the advantages of sequestering herself away into Renly’s office for a power nap to get her through the afternoon when she saw it. More aptly, saw _her_.

A copy of the paper that Margaery had yet to see for the day had been left for her on her desk. She looked around at her coworkers quickly, but was only met with the familiar sight of people working and a few caught eyes with small smiles of acknowledgement before they went back to their work; nothing out of the ordinary.

But her lips were already pursed in agitation as she looked back down to the paper on her desk. A picture of Cersei Lannister – one of her few official campaign pictures – was emblazoned on the top, slotted above the front page interview of King’s Landing News.

_The country has had all eyes on the campaign for the unoccupied seat on the small council, vacated by the late Jon Arryn in the event of his passing four months ago. Candidates Cersei Lannister and Margaery Tyrell have been engaged in a hard-fought and spirited campaign for the past three months._

_For those just joining us in this impassioned campaign, Lannister is the daughter of retired Prime Minister, Tywin Lannister, who was unseated in the election of 2006, by Tyrell’s grandmother, Olenna Tyrell – currently still serving in office. Given this family history, there was bound to be an embittered campaign from the start._

_For more information on Lannister and Tyrell, please visit KingsLandingNews.com._

_Though a typical campaign for a small council election runs a year, given the unprecedented prompting of this election, Lannister and Tyrell will have a total of six months to run a full campaign. With those six months halfway over, we are closing in on the first of two debates between the candidates._

_Missandei Naath with King’s Landing News has the final interview with candidate Cersei Lannister before the debate:_

_**Naath:** It’s been reported and you and Margaery Tyrell have yet to meet face-to-face during the official campaign. Is this correct?_

_**Lannister:** Yes, that is correct. I presume we’re both waiting until the official debate to fully come to a head. Though we’ve all certainly seen her around, haven’t we? [quiet laughter]_

_**Naath:** Yes, it’s apparent that Margaery has been very proactive in her campaign strategy. The amount of interviews she’s arranged in print and live television nearly doubles the appearances you’ve made on your campaign run thus far; I’m to assume this was a calculated decision from your team?_

_**Lannister:** Your presumption is accurate. Ms. Tyrell has seemingly made it her mission to pop up everywhere possible and as often as possible. While I’m sure a strategy like that seems “proactive” to someone of her age and inexperience, the fact of the matter is that elections aren’t won because of how much time you spend parading yourself about, but on substance. _

_**Naath:** And naturally, your feel your campaign is more substantive than your competitor. But in the last couple of months, a few of your stances have been criticized, especially in comparison to Tyrell’s more hot topic issues. Would you care to speak about that?_

_**Lannister:** In comparison to Ms. Tyrell’s platform? Would you care to elaborate?_

_**Naath:** Of course. For example, Margaery has spoken at length about topics such as homelessness – a rampant issue in this city as I’m sure you’re aware, better programs for public schooling across the nation, and working in tandem with governments in Essos about climate change. Your platforms – _

_**Lannister:** Yet Tyrell speaks very little about international business, an issue which I have discussed in detail. And I’m aware that my support of the arts as one of my main subjects has come under some criticism, but I will continue to challenge those who pass judgement to look into my previous statements. I’ve been on the board of the Committee for the Arts in this country for over twenty years; the impact the arts have is broad in range from emotional and mental effects to tourism and business. _

_**Naath:** Right, you bring up a good poi – _

_**Lannister:** Furthermore, I implore you to think about disparaging the arts as a platform when being a proponent for my competitor, who – I will remind readers – has become fairly well-known because of a photoshoot, of questionable taste I might add, in a magazine._

_**Naath:** Ms. Lannister, King’s Landing News – and myself, in any official capacity as an interviewer and journalist – have made no official statement of support in this election as of yet._

_**Lannister:** Mhmm, maybe there have been no “official” statements, but it’s no secret as to which way this paper leans. [leans back in chair] Regardless. Let’s continue._

_**Naath:** [clears throat] As I was going to say before, you brought up a good point; you’ve been on the board of the Committee for the Arts for over twenty years. That has been another matter of contention during this election; your lack of personal experience in politics._

_**Lannister:** I have not only been involved in meetings and fundraisers for nearly the entire time that Margaery Tyrell has been alive, but grew up with my father – an esteemed and brilliant politician – not to mention my marriage to my dearly departed husband. I was the wife of a member of the small council; I have personal experience in politics._

_**Naath:** So, essentially you might say you feel that this election is also a matter of measuring what one might feel is more valuable: a shorter amount of time with direct hands-on experience or a longer time on the sideline. _

_**Lannister:** I suppose someone could think of it such as that, though I would dare anyone to compare working in the Department for the People for merely a few years to something such as learning from my father during his time in office. Inexperience will always reveal itself. Whether you’re relying on nepotism or not._

_**Naath** : Certainly a matter that I believe will come up during your debate with Margaery Tyrell, and I’m sure many are looking forward to it including myself; I do wish very much that we could discuss more, but we are currently out of time. Thank you for joining us today, Ms. Lannister._

_**Lannister:** Yes, I look forward to viewing your column, Ms. Naath. _

_The first debate between Lannister and Tyrell is next week – December 22 nd on WBN (Westeros Broadcast News), 8:00pm Narrow Sea Time. King’s Landing News will be there to report._

Margaery’s teeth clenched so hard, it physically pained her and her already slightly blurred vision was suddenly enough to leave her a little dizzy. She was going to beat that woman in this election if it was the _last_ thing she did. Every single time she saw any of Cersei’s interviews, this feeling that she managed to contain but only just burned up inside of her.

It wasn’t just the insults – truly, Margaery had grown so sick of those weeks ago, especially given that they were typically on the same subjects. Her age, her grandmother, her campaign strategy, her “inexperience” – because she’d seen all of those coming.

But really, it was centered in the fact that she was still yet to truly pinpoint where Cersei was in this election. Despite the fact that Margaery was up in all of the pre-election polls, Cersei didn’t seem to be very concerned. Which was concerning in and of itself.

It set her on edge, and that… well, that made Margaery all the more antsy for their debate in three days. With a deep breath – that she was forced to take in from her mouth given her stuffed nose – Margaery did her best to untense her shoulders. Right there in writing in front of her was the date of her first face-to-face debate with Cersei on live television.

And despite the fact that she was already leading and that it was truly the second debate, which would be less than a month before the election itself, that truly mattered the most, Margaery wanted to _win_. She wanted to win gracefully and elegantly, appearing effortless even when it wasn’t.

As much as it pained her to admit it, that wouldn’t happen if she was sick. The effortless aspect, that is, she didn’t care how sick she was; the day she would willingly admit defeat was a cold day in the seven hells.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, helping alleviate some of the pressure in her sinuses for a moment, before she glanced toward Renly’s office. For the first time in her damn _career_ , Margaery was taking the afternoon off for a sick day.

~/~/~

Despite reassuring Renly when she left work, much to his relief, that she would go home and rest, Margaery found herself pouring over all of Cersei’s interviews – both from past and present – and her own. Her own file, so to speak, side by side with Cersei’s was covering her coffee table as she suppressed a yawn.

She’d intended to rest; really, she had. She’d talked herself into resting as she’d gone home early. Telling herself that maybe she _was_ working just a little too much lately. Her grandmother was right when she’d stated earlier that Margaery had been going into work early and staying late. And when she came home, she’d been prepping as much as she could for this debate.

Despite the fact that she was tired, that her eyes were a little sore and her head was hurting, she couldn’t stop herself from reviewing all of the information she’d compiled. It was –

When her phone beeped, it took her a moment to register it through her slightly disoriented thoughts, already swamped down by work.

_**Sansa – 6:32PM**  _  
_Hey! I know you’ve been really busy this week,_  
_preparing for the debate and all. I just wanted_  
_to know if I could drop something off at your_  
_apartment?_

_**Sansa – 6:33PM**  _  
_I know you’re probably still at work, and you’ve_  
_been so busy the last few days. I just… well, I have_  
_a little something for you and I’d like to make_  
_sure you get it before I leave._

For a second, Margaery’s mind moved too slowly, and there was a shot of worry that went right through her when she immediately jumped to the last time she saw Sansa. The program in Volanis. Months away. And Margaery hadn’t had time to process that, really; she wasn’t ready for it yet.

She frowned at herself. At her exhausted brain and her irritatingly slow thought process that felt like it was being sat on by her sinuses. It was far too early for that program. Sansa had even told her through text two days ago that she’d just gotten her application in; there was no way that’s where she was going.

_**Margaery – 6:35PM**  
Where are you going?_

_**Sansa – 6:36PM**  _  
_Home! For the holidays, remember? And in, you_  
_know, spirit of the holidays I have a little gift to_  
_drop off for you. You don’t think it would be –_

_**Sansa – 6:36PM**  _  
_I can leave it outside of your apartment door,_  
_right?_

_**Santa – 6:37PM**  _  
_Not that I think your neighbors are untrustworthy_  
_or anything like that; you live in a really nice place._

_**Sansa – 6:37PM**  _  
_… you know what I mean._

Despite the fact that Margaery wasn’t feeling well and was stressed – for a multitude of reasons – and that she hadn’t felt well all day, she felt herself smiling. It was impossible not to, not with Sansa’s rambling texts.

She’d missed her. It had only been a few days, and a part of that had been Margaery processing everything that had happened in the coffee shop. Meaning partial avoidance of Sansa and then throwing herself headfirst into her work.

Not that the two had any sort of correlation. But… still.

She’d missed her. And yes, Sansa had been busy herself. Finishing everything up for the semester, spending time with her sister, and getting ready to go home for the holidays. Not that she had any shopping to do, as Sansa had proudly texted her that she’d had all of her holiday gifts for her family and friends prepared over a month ago.

The little nerd.

Margaery shook her head a bit, trying to clear it as she narrowed her eyes to focus and reread the texts. It was only then that she realized…

_**Margaery – 6:40PM**  
Are you outside of my door now?_

Without waiting for an answer, Margaery set her phone down on the table again and stood. Then immediately regret her action, as the living room spun for a moment with how light her head felt before she gathered her bearings.

Sniffling slightly and clearing her throat because she was acutely aware of how awful her voice had sounded earlier, she walked to her apartment door and slowly opened it.

Sure enough, there Sansa stood. She had her phone in one hand and a small giftbag in the other, her jacket on but – Margaery noted with a small eyeroll even as she wanted to grin just a little – unzipped. It revealed a sweater underneath, a deep blue that made her eyes look even bluer, as if that was possible. Her hair was in a braid pulled over her shoulder, a scarf around her neck and her face was adorably flushed from the December chill outside.

Margaery had missed the sight of her in the last few days and the way her stomach had felt uncomfortably knotted lessened slightly.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she grinned as she said it, and managed a wink even as she leaned against the door to help steady her.

Normally, her flirting got a smiling blush and small headshake from Sansa, or even an eyeroll that Margaery could tell was pleased. And she could see the start of a smile on Sansa’s face as her eyes flickered from her phone in hand up to Margaery’s face.

And any semblance of a smile completely disappeared, replaced in seconds by a deep frown, forehead crinkling as her eyes sparked in worry, “My gods, Margaery! Are you okay?”

Margaery was very rarely embarrassed. In fact, it was difficult to remember the last time she’d been genuinely, truly mortified. Sansa had seen her in professional clothes, her more casual clothes, skimpy underwear and tank tops that she’d thrown on to sleep in, and completely naked. First time in the morning and right as they were going to sleep.

However, Margaery realized, she hadn’t seen her in the baggy sweatpants that were only reserved for times she was in desperate need of being comfortable, her thermal long-sleeved shirt that was years old, and that her hair was tossed up into a messy ponytail, mostly just to stay out of her way while she’d worked.

Not to mention, the ringing of her grandmother’s words in her head that she looked like she’d come crawling up out of a sewer in Flea Bottom. And she hadn’t been wrong. Her eyes were glassy, with bags under them, and a sallow complexion that she’d seen in the mirror when she’d gotten home, and she knew it didn’t make for a pretty picture.

Which was fine when she’d sequestered herself onto the couch by herself to recover all alone. It was less fine when the woman who had never seen her as anything but put-together – and yes, Margaery considered herself completely naked first thing in the morning somewhat put together. Sexy, at the very least, especially given the fact that Sansa always flushed and licked her lips subconsciously – saw her looking like a mess.

A _sick_ mess, nonetheless.

She didn’t enjoy that Sansa was seeing her like this in the least. In fact, if Margaery could keep anyone from ever seeing her like this for her entire life, that would be more than ideal. Especially someone she was having sex with and wanted to continue having sex with in the future.

Shaking her head slightly, she grabbed the door handle, “Seven hells, I forgot…” with a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and refused to look as sheepish as she might have felt, “I came home from work not feeling quite my best and have been resting.”

The look on Sansa’s was adorably concerned, her eyes wide as she quickly tucked her phone in her pocket, “You’re sick?”

Pink lips pursed and Sansa seemed to instinctively step forward, her hand coming to rest on Margaery’s forehead gently. Her touch was cool against her face and the tension that had been lodged in her shoulders loosened at the brush of cool fingertips.

It was out of her control, the way her eyes slipped closed for a moment, as she murmured, “I’m… just tired, that’s all. I’ve been working a lot.”

When Sansa’s hand disappeared, Margaery’s eyes opened slowly as she leaned more of her weight against the door. The frown on Sansa’s face was the deepest Margaery had ever seen on the younger girl, and she found that she didn’t like to be the cause of it.

“You’ve been working yourself sick,” her voice was tinged with disapproval, “Have you taken any medicine today? Eaten anything?” cerulean eyes widened in regret as Sansa bit her lip, “Did I wake you up?”

The rapid questioning made Margaery’s head spin a bit and she held up her hand, “I took some ibuprofen for my headache, the thought of eating makes me a little sick, and don’t worry; I haven’t been napping.” Muffling a yawn, she inclined her head, “I was actually looking at my notes for the debate; you could take a look if you…”

She trailed off as Sansa stepped inside, more commanding than she usually did, shaking her head at Margaery as she walked by her. Margaery’s eyebrows furrowed low on her forehead in confusion, though she wasn’t unpleased by the fact that Sansa was staying.

Slowly she closed the door and followed Sansa into her living room, where she was met with a surprisingly stern gaze, “You’re telling me that you feel awful because you’ve been killing yourself working all day and night with everything that’s happening with Cersei and the debate coming up. And even though you’re clearly not well, you’re pushing yourself to keep working?”

It was pride and defensiveness that she felt tying together inside of her, and an alarming amount of _shame_ from Sansa’s words. Which – Margaery had never been cowed by anyone about how much she put into her work, considering either time or energy.

“I… couldn’t help it,” she offered, her voice soft and scratchy. She truly hadn’t been able to help it overly much. Even though Margaery was fully aware that she _did_ push herself more than others would – which, was a matter of pride – the closer the debate came, the more time she felt was being wasted when she could be preparing. What was an hour or two – or… three – of sleep in comparison with winning this election?

Clearing her throat again, honeyed brown eyes fixed themselves to Sansa’s, “You know that Cersei is an underhanded competitor; you also know me,” sometimes Margaery still found it weird. That she had a friend who wasn’t Loras or Renly who _knew_ her that well, and knew her so quickly. It had been months, yes, but there was something about Sansa that made her walls come down faster than they would around most, “I can’t go into this without both eyes open.”

The words apparently worked to calm Sansa’s worry and the taller woman sighed and bit her lip as she looked Margaery up and down, “You can barely keep your eyes open right now,” she murmured with a small smile that Margaery returned, before shaking her head, “Come here.”

For a moment, she thought Sansa meant _here_ as in, to her. Before she realized that Sansa was instead gesturing at the couch, where Margaery had brought out one of the quilts she had folded in her linen closet that she’d had wrapped around herself.

She walked closer, watching as Sansa efficiently grabbed at the comforter and shook it out, before patting it down. Her eyes met Sansa’s as the redhead lifted her eyebrows at her before turning to arrange the pillows she had at the top of the couch.

“Sansa, darling, I’m not particularly in the mood for my typical stress relaxant,” the corners of her mouth lifted slightly even as she sighed in regret… being able to have another night of marathon sex with Sansa would have been an ideal way to burn off some of her stress.

Sansa rolled her eyes but there was that light in them of amusement that Margaery could identify even right now, “No, you climb in here,” she demanded softly, lifting the blanket that she’d arranged so that when someone laid down in it, the blanket would fold down over them.

Over her, as Sansa may appear to want the case to be.

Margaery baulked, however, folding her arms over her chest. Looking like a mess and being exhausted to the point of being sick or no… “I’m not an invalid, Sansa.”

It just so _happened_ that her body chose to betray her at that moment and – gods damn it – she couldn’t control the fact that she sneezed. Repeatedly, and hard enough that her eyes were watering and her head felt so light after, the room seemed to spin for a moment.

Still, though, she remained upright despite the fact that she hated being seen like this. She hadn’t felt this unwell for years, and the last time she had, the only person who’d seen her was Loras. And that had only been after she’d accidentally slept for over twelve hours and he’d been worried enough about her for missing their dinner plans that he’d let himself in.

Showing this weakness in front of her brother was one thing; showing it in front of Sansa, who had always seen her as better than this, stronger than this – the way she wanted for everyone to see her – was different.

Even if the fact that the light of concern in Sansa’s eyes was so strong it made her resolve weaken just a bit.

“I know you’re not an invalid; but you need rest. I’ll put on that new documentary we started a few weeks ago, about the Doom of Valyria,” Sansa only flushed a little bit as she said the words, and Margaery grinned a bit lecherously at the memory.

“It’s your fault we didn’t finish it,” she retorted, and was still pleasantly surprised with the fact that Sansa had initiated sex between them that night, on a night that was supposedly going to be a friend-night.

With a blush, Sansa shot Margaery one of those put-upon looks, “I don’t understand your fascination with tragic history.” And when her blush deepened slightly, she clasped her hands in front of her, “And I personally find you more appealing than all of that.”

Margaery’s eyebrows came up on her forehead as she tilted her head, knowing that Sansa had these moments that she could surprise her with her words and her actions, but loving that she was still impressed with her.

And when Sansa’s hands slid to her hips in a rather take-charge manner, Margaery’s eyes were drawn to the action. Her throat, which had been feeling a little sore, a little raw, all day, dried a little with the idea of Sansa _taking control_ at other times. Namely, in the bedroom.

It was frustrating that she was positive that she wouldn’t be able to summon enough energy to act on those thoughts right now. Even more frustrating that          the more thoughts she had, the weaker she felt. She barely caught herself from groaning aloud in irritation; the ease that she typically had holding herself together left her when she was feeling like this, and she hated it.

She wondered if Sansa could tell – because Sansa could read her more than most people could at this point.

When her own tired and heavy eyes made contact with Sansa’s imploring ones, she this time didn’t put up a verbal hesitation before walking back to the couch and standing in front of Sansa for a moment.

Her hands balled on her hips for a moment as she looked up at Sansa, who gave her a look of questioning amusement back, “I’ll lay down… if you’ll go over my debate notes with me. It would be nice to be able to talk to you about them.”

Blue eyes narrowed at her for a moment, before Sansa relented and sighed, “Fine. If you lay down, _and_ eat something, I’ll go over your notes.”

Feeling victorious, despite the way her stomach rolled a bit at the idea of food, Margaery smirked. “Deal.”

And as she climbed into the little blanket nest Sansa had formed on the couch, resting her head on the pillows, she supposed that showing this bit of weakness in front of Sansa wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t as though Sansa was one of the women she’d hooked up with in the past, who Margaery would have outright refused to spend time with in this manner.

It was Sansa, who wasn’t looking at her with any sort of disgust for as unsightly as Margaery was sure she looked, who wasn’t looking at her any differently than she usually did.

Sansa, who tucked the blanket in around her in a way that was snug but not too snug; comfortable enough that Margaery felt like her body was melting into the couch in relaxation only moments after laying down.

“I’m going to make some tea and get something easy for your stomach,” Sansa informed her quietly as she smoothed the blanket over Margaery, and her touch over the blankets made a warm, solid, persistent _feeling_ settle in Margaery’s chest. Different from the lust and attraction she would typically feel.

It was that feeling that prompted Margaery’s words co come out in a slightly drowsy whisper, “You’re good at this. Comfort. Taking care.”

Even though she was just stating a fact, they made Margaery feel somewhat vulnerable, in a feeling that was quite the opposite to the warmth still in her chest. But… maybe not _that_ different.

Sansa leaned in just enough to press her cool hand against Margaery’s forehead and smooth back some of her hair, “Well, I do have three younger siblings.”

The way Sansa’s thumb stroked over her cheek and lingered was soothing in a way Margaery hadn’t felt in days, and her mind stopped feeling like it had to run a mile a minute. Instead, it was easy for her to slip her eyes closed as Sansa gently moved her hand and padded into the kitchen.

She would just rest her eyes a bit while Sansa figured out what she deigned would be easy on Margaery’s stomach. Then she would go back to her debate prep, and hopefully gain some new insight, because she trusted Sansa’s opinion.

She even had a list of topics she’d thought to ask Sansa’s opinion on that she’d compiled over the last few days. Yes, she would just rest her eyes for a few moments first.

When she opened her eyes again, she didn’t have immediate access to a clock, but she _knew_ that it had been more than “a few moments” that had passed.

She knew because while she was still tired – honestly, she felt that she could go back to sleep and probably sleep through the night – she didn’t feel that same bone-deep sleepiness that she’d felt all day earlier. And, if she’d been honest, a little bit the day before, too. She knew because her eyes weren’t burning as she blinked them open, as though they were begging to close again. She knew because everything she’d been feeling before – the small aches and pains – were still there, but dulled down a bit.

Dulled down enough for her to instinctively know that she had gotten some _rest_ for the first time in days.

She also knew that some time had passed because instead of a pillow under her head, there was a thigh. Soft and warm and smelling nice, like Sansa. And her face was turned toward the television. Which was off, she noted, but she hear soft music coming from… somewhere.

As her vision cleared from sleep, she could see all of the debate prep work she’d had laid out all over the coffee table, instead of the spread out way she’d had it, was organized into piles in the corner. And she registered that long, soft fingers were combing through her hair.

It was… intimate, was her first thought and her heart beat a moment too fast at the realization that Sansa was here and Margaery was sleeping in her lap while Sansa stroked her hair. But, then again, Sansa was someone who took care of other people easily, naturally. Something like this for her while Margaery hadn’t been feeling well was probably second nature. She could imagine Sansa would do something similar for Jeyne.

Beyond that, they’d shared a bed to sleep, while both being naked. Granted, those were designated sleeping together – the benefits side of the friends with benefits – nights, whereas this clearly wasn’t. But it was comfortable, Margaery decided, and it would be entirely unnecessary for her to dig around it too much when it could just be simple.

With a sigh, she turned slightly. Sansa’s fingers stilled in her hair as Margaery rested the back of her head there and blinked up at Sansa, who was haloed slightly from the lamp next to the couch. Red hair was both muted and highlighted, and the effect was almost dizzying.

The fact that it wasn’t actually dizzying as it might have been earlier was what made Margaery grin a bit.

And Sansa smiled back, placing her phone on the table. Margaery realized that was where the soft music was coming from, and it continued to play even as Sansa tilted her head, eyes wide and imploring as she asked, “Are you feeling better? You look a little better.”

“A little sleep apparently was what the doctor ordered,” she replied, letting out a small sigh before her eyebrow wrinkled in question, “What time is it?”

Sansa bit her lip before she flickered her eyes to Margaery’s stacks of paperwork on the table, “Um, it’s almost ten.”

Margaery almost wanted to lament about the time that she’d lost, but it was difficult to do when her body felt more relaxed than it had in days. Still, she frowned and made herself sit up, despite the fact that the voice in the back of her mind was telling her that she didn’t really want to.

“You didn’t have to stay for so long,” she admonished, quirking an eyebrow at Sansa.

Who shifted slightly, just enough to face Margaery, and their knees pressed together. Sansa gave her a patented look that Margaery somewhat recognized as one Sansa would sometimes give Jeyne, “Don’t be ridiculous; I wasn’t just going to leave you here while you were passed out.”

“I suppose you did make a comfortable pillow,” she teased and enjoyed with Sansa flushed. She took a moment to enjoy that slightly red tint on her face, before she trailed her eyes over Sansa, noting that the jacket she’d still been wearing when Margaery had fallen asleep, revealing the soft blue sweater that her cheek had been rubbing against. On the table next to Sansa was her promised cup of tea and a box of crackers, and Margaery couldn’t help but quirk a smile, “You found something for me to eat I suppose.”

Sansa followed her gaze for a moment, turning her head to look at the table next to her before she smiled sheepishly, “Well, I drank the tea while you slept. I could make more! If you wanted. You also had some soup, but when I came in to ask you what kind you wanted, you were asleep. And –” she cut herself off, cheeks blushing as she bit her lip and long fingers came to play with the ends of her braid.

Curious, because Sansa did not have that great of a poker face and Margaery could tell there was something else there, Margaery narrowed her eyes a bit, “And…?”

Sansa shook her head quickly and her eyes dropped to her lap for a moment before she took a deep breath and murmured, “And, well, I know you enjoy coming off as perfect, but you’re still human. So… I couldn’t just leave you here like that.”

There was more to it than that, she knew. But she let it go, for now, and dropped her mouth in mock-offense, “You’re saying I’m not perfect, then?”

“Pretty close,” Sansa tossed back and even though she was nudging Margaery’s leg with her own in a teasing way, Margaery could hear the sincerity in her voice.

It made her stomach twist in that way, that Sansa way that made Margaery feel good but also _scared_. And it was that feeling that reminded her of the invitation from earlier. With a deep breath, she trained her eyes on Sansa’s face and kept her voice deliberately light as she asked, “Sansa… did you invite me to your family’s New Year’s Eve party?”

Margaery knew her answer as soon as Sansa’s hand that was playing lightly with her hair froze and her face scrunched into a cutely confused frown, “No? Are – did you get an invitation?”

Margaery hesitated for a moment before nodding, “Earlier today,” she explained. And she wasn’t sure if it made her feel better or worse that Sansa wasn’t the one behind the invite. Better, she supposed, because it meant there were no… lines being blurred there. Worse, because it most definitely came from someone in her family, then.

Sansa’s teeth dug into her bottom lip and her eyes flickered around the room for a moment before those baby blues locked onto Margaery’s, wondering, “Are… well, you don’t have to come, if you don’t want to,” she let out a quiet, confused laugh, “I just mean – you know, a lot of politicians get invited. And you met my dad a few months ago and all, so...” she trailed off, her fingers falling now to tug at the hem of her sweater.

Honeyed brown eyes watched the way Sansa’s fingers moved for a few moments, before she thought of her grandmother’s words from earlier and refused to let herself be uncomfortable for any reason, “Exactly; I figured that I would go, make some connections… You don’t mind?” she ran her eyes over Sansa’s face, looking for a sign that Sansa might not want her to meet her family.

She clearly wasn’t going there as someone _involved_ with Sansa, but, still. Sansa was only newly and recently out to her family, and Margaery wasn’t even sure if it was her entire family yet or not. She might not want the friend she was sleeping with there.

But Sansa released her bottom lip and shrugged, “No, it’s okay; you should come. It’ll be good for your campaign… and for you to experience some true cold,” she finished with another nudge to Margaery’s leg.

And even though there was still this unease inside of her, she couldn’t not chuckle even as she rolled her eyes. “All right, winter child, we’ll see just how tough you are then, won’t we? When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Sansa sighed slightly, “Flying back with Arya and Jeyne, which is always an experience. Better than the time we drove home a few years ago, though. _That_ was… a long car ride. Two days,” she elaborated with a grimace.

Margaery could only imagine being stuck inside of a car for that long with almost anyone, let alone what she knew of Jeyne and the short impression she’d had with Arya. But there was that look in Sansa’s eyes, the one that shined a little with that feeling of love for her family even when they drove her crazy.

“We have to be at the airport by seven tomorrow morning,” Sansa continued, “I was finishing up packing earlier and that’s when I realized that I still had your Christmas gift. That’s why I came over, actually.”

Margaery sat up a bit straighter, only now thinking about the giftbag Sansa had when she’d first arrived, and how she’d planned on dropping it off when she’d thought Margaery would still be working, “You got me a gift?”

Sansa ducked her head a bit, “It’s nothing really big. I mean. I get them for all of my friends for the holidays,” she was quick to add on, “I just – well, I thought you’d like it.”

There was an excitement to her, now, though and Margaery saw it in the energy she had as she quickly hopped up from the couch. She tracked Sansa with her eyes, watching her walk into the kitchen to where, Margaery supposed, she’d left the gift.

After a few moments of debating with herself, she pushed herself up, too, walking to the closet right off from the living room and reaching up, where she’d put all of her own Christmas gifts. It had been a split-second decision, buying Sansa a present. It wasn’t as though she was averse to the idea of exchanging gifts; Sansa was her best friend. And when she’d been walking around the mall with Loras a few weeks ago at her brother’s insistence, as they’d gone to find a gift for their parents, Margaery had seen something that just… reminded her of Sansa.

Her hesitation only came a bit once she’d gotten home and wrapped it. Lines… were blurring a bit at some points. While Margaery didn’t – couldn’t – think about that right now, not when she had so many other things going on, she couldn’t deny that. It was just some small things, though. And nothing that she felt was done consciously.

Which was enough to allow her to keep going. Margaery enjoyed Sansa. Her company, her intelligence, her charm, her friendship. They followed their little guidelines Sansa had written for them, and that… that was where they were. Even if at times things seemed… hazier.

And during the moments Margaery let herself really think about it – which was not often – she realized she wasn’t only worried about lines hazing for Sansa, but also for herself. Which was something she’d never had to worry about before with anyone else.

It was unsettling.

The small wrapped box was in her hand as she sat back on the couch, curling her legs under herself on that small nest of blankets. Her eyebrows here furrowed in thought when Sansa came back to the room.

Her eyes lit up a bit, that irresistible blue brightening as she waved the giftbag back and forth a bit, and that unsettling feeling faded. It just… it was difficult to focus on when she had Sansa grinning at her so brightly, even though her fingers tightened a little on the box in her hand.

Sansa’s eyes latched onto it, and her whole face lit up in a way that was impossible not to smile at, “You got me something too? Even though I didn’t tell you I got you something?”

Uncharacteristically self-conscious, Margaery resisted the want to rub at the back of her neck, “It’s just something small. Here.”

She offered it to Sansa who took the small box with reverence, a glow in her cheeks, and excitement in her eyes. She looked from Margaery’s face to the small box that she was now moving her fingers over once, then twice, before Margaery sighed and urged, “Open it,” before she could let herself feel strange about the gift again.

There was nothing strange, though, of course. Because Sansa got her a gift, too, and if Margaery had ever had any real, close female friends before, she thinks she would have gotten them gifts like this, too. She got them for her family, for her cousins, for Renly; it wasn’t a big deal. Still, there was an air of anticipation she couldn’t dispel as she waited.

Sansa’s nimble fingers shifted the box open, revealing the earrings inside. They’d caught her eye as she and Loras had passed a jeweler, and… she couldn’t help but be drawn to them. Because the blue of the sapphire stone perfectly matched Sansa’s eyes, like… it was uncanny. The sapphires were tear-shaped, and fell from a twisting designed, diamond studded white gold. She imagined the way the white gold would reflect in that red hair, and she imagined that it would be enchanting. They were elegantly beautiful. Understated, and stylish.

They reminded her of Sansa.

Then the smile on Sansa’s face disappeared into more of a slack-jawed expression, and it made Margaery’s stomach drop.

“Margaery – I… you…” Sansa trailed off, her voice light and full of wonder, matching the look on her face as she held Margaery’s gaze, a question in her eyes. A disbelieving laugh left her throat as she shook her head, “I can’t – these must have cost a fortune. I can’t…”

But her fingers gently stroked over the earrings, and the fact that Sansa was marveling over them in such a way gave Margaery a heavy feeling of satisfaction, “So you like them?”

A job well done always made Margaery feel accomplished, and she was finding that the way Sansa’s breath left her quickly with a breathless chuckle made her feel headily so.

“I – of course I _love_ them. But I can’t accept them,” she tore her eyes from the jewelry and regretfully met Margaery’s gaze, in a look that was a transparent melding of sadness and guilt.

And Margaery was having none of it, as she reached out and gently but firmly closed the lid on the box and put her hand over Sansa’s to press it toward her, “You _can_ and you will. They’ll look perfect on you, darling, and it’s a holiday gift. Frankly, _not_ accepting it is the rudest thing you could do to me.”

“But… the price – mine… I mean, you’ll see in a minute, but it’s not nearly as extravagant as these are,” Sansa feebly resisted, but Margaery could hear that her heart wasn’t in it, even as her fingers tightened around the earrings.

She didn’t know if she’d ever felt quite so proud of herself over a gift before. Though, granted, she always had been good at reading people.

Having to clear her throat, her voice just a little scratchy still, Margaery stroked her fingers down over Sansa’s knee for a moment and gave her a wink that worked far better than the one she’d tried a few hours ago, “Besides, a pretty girl like you deserves pretty jewelry.”

Sansa rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling even as she carefully placed the earrings on the table, as if she was afraid to damage them by being too rough. “They’re beautiful; thank you so much, I…” she trailed off again, this time with a sigh, and Margaery didn’t miss the way Sansa’s gaze fell to her mouth for a moment, before she looked away.

Looked away just in time for Margaery to feel herself shiver a bit and lick her lips. She knew that Sansa wanted to kiss her; she recognized that look. But – tonight was a friend time, not a benefit time.

The thought was gone a moment later when Sansa reached down to grab at the gift bag and presented Margaery with it, a small frown on her face. “I wish I had given you mine, first.”

Margaery rolled her eyes and scoffed, “Enough with that; I’m going to love it,” and oddly, Margaery had the feeling that she might like whatever it was that Sansa would give her, even if it wasn’t a gift she necessarily wanted.

Sansa worried at her lip again before offering Margaery the bag, “There are two things in there.”

Accepting the words with a nod, she took out the tissue paper before clasping the first object. She pulled it out, finding a container of… rose seeds. And she was already pulling them closer, to identify them, as Sansa explained, “I – well, we were talking about flowers a little while back, and you told me about all of those roses you had back where you grew up in your gardens. I, well, we don’t have as many flowers as all of that, but in the North we have these –”

“Winter roses,” Margaery finished for her, and she continued to examine the seeds. She remembered that conversation with Sansa, and it was a typical feeling for her, to miss all of the gardens her parents had at their home. Nothing here in King’s Landing could compare. “We could never get these to grow properly in Highgarden.”

Sansa laughed quietly, “I remember you saying that. That you had all of the best roses, but not winter roses. My family would grow them, and we would see them a lot during the warmer seasons; I never paid too much attention to them back when I lived in the North, but I miss them a bit now.” Clearing her throat, she shook her head and moved her braid over to hang down her back, “Anyway, a few weeks ago, I got the number for my parent’s groundskeeper, and she sent me what she said are the best winter rose seeds and some instructions on how to best make them grow here this winter.”

Margaery was already thinking about where she should put them. It had been a while, too long, since she’d really done any gardening. Even something small, like for these roses.

Coming back to herself, she shook her head and aimed a look at Sansa, “How could you possibly think I wouldn’t enjoy these?” her smile was large enough that it made her cheeks hurt a bit, because Sansa was honestly just so… _thoughtful_.

Sansa shrugged, her eyes falling back on the earrings on the table, “I just… I mean, they’re seeds. Compared to – you know.” But before Margaery could reassure her, and she actually would _mean_ it, Sansa shook her head, and that excitement from earlier came back a bit, “But, look at the next thing. Please.”

Eyes narrowing from curiosity, Margaery placed the seeds on the table and reached back in, this time pulling out –

“Oh my gods!” she gasped, unable to stop it – and unwilling to care. Her hand was almost shaking as she gripped the gift tightly, “This isn’t supposed to come out for another four months.”

Because right in her very own hands, was a copy of _The Danger of Illusion_ – the next in the series of Catelyn Stark’s novels about Brienne the knight. And, as Margaery was excited to read about, Brienne and Alayne traveling together following the cliffhanging ending of the last novel that had come out over two years ago.

Sansa was watching her, a bright smile on her face and her hands tightly clasped together, “I, well… I got my official advanced copy,” Sansa gestured to the book in Margaery’s hands, “I’ve already read it, and I was thinking about how we talked about how you were excited about _The Danger of Illusion_ , and I thought. Well, obviously you can tell what I thought.”

“I can’t wait to read it. After the debate, obviously, but…” she shook her head lightly, looking down at the book again, “Thank you, Sansa. These are some of the _most_ thoughtful presents I’ve ever gotten. I mean it. How lucky am I with you having this,” she waved the book lightly before smoothing her fingers over the cover.

The blush on Sansa’s face was clear and pronounced even as she shrugged and looked away, “I guess pretty lucky,” she returned with an indulgent smile.

Reluctant to put the novel down, Margaery did anyway, “The next time that I see you, we can talk about it.”

That excited Sansa even more, and Margaery couldn’t take her eyes away from the younger girl and her happiness, even as a yawn escaped her. It was the yawn that did it, that had Sansa’s smile fading a little.

Not faltering, though, her expression was still warm, as she reached out and tucked the blanket that Margaery was sitting with more tightly around her, “You should get some more sleep; I should probably leave,” her voice was regretful, “I wish I could stay a little longer.”

Margaery _did_ settle back comfortably against the couch; she was still, admittedly, exhausted, even if she didn’t feel as badly as she had earlier. “Oh? Because you had a great time sitting here while I slept and you cleaned and organized?” she teased.

And Sansa rolled her eyes, busying herself with pulling the blanket around Margaery in a way that made her feel like she was wrapped into a cocoon. It was odd, the way she felt relaxed and calmed so easily. She didn’t… she didn’t think someone had made her feel this cared for before.

Or maybe she hadn’t let anyone make her feel cared for before, a voice that sounded annoyingly like Loras inside of her head pointed out. Semantics.

Sansa’s hands smoothed down over Margaery’s sides before she brushed back Margaery’s hair again gently and gave a soft smile as she stood, “I actually _did_ have a nice time. It’s nice to know for sure that you got some rest. And… it was nice to see you before I leave,” she finished in a whisper, her fingers brushing against Margaery’s ear lightly before it dropped.

And she missed it.

For a moment – for one, silly moment, Margaery wanted to ask Sansa to stay. The words curled up in her throat. To ask her to curl up around her and cuddle and give her that easy comfort she had. On a night where they weren’t having sex – which was… not the way to maintain boundaries. Which was entirely out of “the rules.” In a way that was so not the right way to do this, that they’d expressly decided _not_ to do it.

Sansa leaned in and she could feel her body warmth, as she pressed her lips to Margaery’s forehead, “Goodnight.”

Maybe this was some sort of fever-induced craving, Margaery wondered, even as she blinked her eyes open, only to see that Sansa hadn’t pulled away very far, and was only inches away from her face, “Have happy holidays with your family.”

“I’ll be watching your debate,” Sansa told her and Margaery could feel her warm breath against her face.

“You better,” she murmured seriously, holding that contact. She didn’t know why, but… she wanted Sansa to watch. It _mattered_.

A few seconds beat by and Sansa didn’t properly stand yet. Instead, she bit her lip and sighed lightly, sweetly, and Margaery looked up at her, questioning with a quirked brow. For only a moment, though, because then Sansa was leaning in and closing that gap between them.

Sansa’s lips brushed a kiss over hers, warm and gentle. It was soft and sweet and decidedly _not_ leading to anything else. It was comfort and made that warmth in Margaery’s chest that she’d felt earlier not only return but feel like it was bursting, as Sansa’s fingers lightly traced over her jaw.

It made Margaery’s breath catch, and a feeling twist in the pit of her stomach. A feeling she was not familiar with but she reluctant, not a moron, and she understood what that feeling was.

Sansa pulled back, standing easily and slipping the earrings gently into her bag. Seemingly entirely fine, while Margaery’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt dumb, somehow. In a way that she was decidedly not okay with.

Her eyes were wide and she knew it, even as Sansa smiled at her, completely normal, before she reached for her jacket and her voice was not out of breath as Margaery felt she was as she told her to, “Feel better.”

“Yes. Bye,” she dimly replied, taking in Sansa’s easy wave as the other woman slipped out of her apartment.

Leaving Margaery sitting on her couch, now wide awake.

Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I would love any feedback; everyone's response to this story is amazing.
> 
> I feel like I'm always trying to make promises about updating and then... fail. All I can promise is that this story is going to be finished without a doubt and is entirely planned, so you don't have to have any worries about that.


	17. Distance Between Us

Being back at her parent’s home in Winterfell for Christmastime meant many things for Sansa.

It meant comfort and familiarity. Sleeping in her childhood and adolescent bedroom, having homecooked meals made by someone other than herself, because Jeyne _could_ cook but didn’t like to. It meant holiday music and baked goods and her siblings speaking over one another in attempts to be heard.

It meant spending hours curled up with her mother in her mother’s writing den – the small, cozy room on the second floor, with the window seat designated just for Sansa. They spent their time there reading or writing or brainstorming or just talking; they had ever since she’d been younger, even before it had been her mother’s official writing office.

It had always been one of Sansa’s favorite places, and it always gave her the immediate feeling of home, and that still held true in the last days that she’d been home, the early mornings she’d spent with her mom curled up with tea.

It meant catching up with Bran, as he told her about his projects that he’d been working on at university – the complex technological projects that were quite frankly beyond Sansa’s comprehension, but she sat through them happily, as she was insanely proud of her younger, genius brother. And having her brother update and upgrade her laptop in mere hours, always making it work as if it were new again, but that was just a fringe benefit.

They’d had that long conversation just the two of them over lunch yesterday, and she’d reveled in it, listening as attentively as she could to what she didn’t necessarily understand. And listening even more attentively to his shy reactions to her gentle – and Arya’s interrupting, not-so-gentle – cajoling about his crush on Meera Reed.

It meant going to the store with Robb as he completed all of his Christmas shopping last minute. Though, he would argue with her every year, that last minute meant shopping after the twentieth, and she would contest that, given that all of _her_ shopping was done months ago. Even though she was always quietly glad he waited for her to return with him to complete his shopping, keeping with the tradition of her working with him to pick out perfect gifts that they’d started as teenagers.

The day after she’d returned from King’s Landing, Robb had picked her up in the morning and they’d spent the entire day in different shops before finishing their afternoon with hot chocolate. Catching up – him talking about work and Jeyne and the wedding coming up, her telling him about school and bursting at the seams nearly at _wanting_ to tell him about Margaery but holding herself back only slightly.

It meant hearing every and all of Rickon’s stories as her younger brother chattered easily whenever he could get a word in. Stories about his friends and their new high school adventures, stories about his hobbies – about drumming, and field hockey, and how he was continuing in ranger scouts and that when he turned sixteen, they would be able to take a trip up to the far North, where Jon was a real Ranger.

Sansa loved her youngest brother’s excitement, and she always enjoyed how much he seemed to thrive on telling her every detail of his life. Even if she _did_ regularly talk to him and help him with his homework via Skype and email, it was never the same. And she never got over how much taller he always seemed to be when she saw him in person, even if she’d seen him less than six months ago.

These moments happened often in the last five days, because her littlest brother enjoyed spending time with her and she enjoyed giving him the attention.

Being back at her parent’s home meant going on long runs with Lady through the trails that the groundskeepers kept properly shoveled and sanded in the winter. Of course, Sansa went for runs when she had time in King’s Landing, but it wasn’t the same.

There was nothing that gave quite this same feeling.

Because being home right now also apparently meant missing Margaery.

Running in the winter, her body feeling slapped by the cold until she properly got into her run, warmed up, the air digging into her lungs until she got into the right form – it cleared her mind like nothing else ever had.

Whenever she’d ever needed to think something through in her adolescence, this had been a part of the process. When she’d ever had boy troubles, a run through the grounds had been the best medicine to get her thoughts clear.

When she’d been nervous… well, more like afraid about what to do for college, worried about accepting the position as a student at KLU and moving so far away – a long, winter run had been what had given her mind the clarity to think about what she wanted barring any other what-ifs and complications.

The comfort of the cold winds blowing around her once she really got into the rhythm of running accompanied by the way Lady always kept perfect pace with her no matter what, remaining a constant, steady presence at her side, was just peaceful.

However.

This particular run had been inspired because of one very specific thing that wouldn’t leave her mind no matter what she’d been doing in the last few days. One very specific person – a gorgeous, intelligent, driven person who hadn’t left her mind since she’d last seen her the night before she’d left King’s Landing.

Being back in Winterfell provided a lot of comforts. Her family, Lady included, and everything she felt with them – warmth, safety, amusement. And typically distance from her life in King’s Landing could give her some good perspective.

Only, she wasn’t feeling like distance from King’s Landing was a very good thing on this particular trip home, for once.

Because she hadn’t heard from Margaery in days, not really. She initially hadn’t thought anything of it – she’d been busy the first day, travelling, she’d known that Margaery hadn’t been feeling too well the day before. So even if she did miss their regular daily communication that day, it wasn’t too weird that it had been fairly halted.

But then the day after that, when she’d been settled in at her parent’s house for the break, and she’d gone to strike up some semblance of their regular conversation – she’d gotten radio silence for hours.

Which wasn’t altogether _that_ strange, she’d supposed at the time. Even though it had been a Saturday, Margaery often worked or scheduled meetings and didn’t check her phone for hours at a time.

She hadn’t thought much of it when she’d texted her again later that night, asking how Margaery was feeling. Until she’d gotten back, _Better, thank you. For both assisting me back to health and for asking_ – and that was it.

It had made her feel… odd. The following day, she’d convinced herself that maybe Margaery was truly still feeling ill and either hadn’t wanted to alarm Sansa or perhaps hadn’t wanted to admit to still feeling sick. Both of those were definitely feasible, viable options.

And when she’d tried to reach out again, this time with a phone call, it had gone unanswered. A message had been delivered minutes later, _Sorry, I’m with my grandmother. I hope you’re having a good time with your family!_

Her response – a light, quick story that she’d been _sure_ would have been something Margaery would be amused by – had gone unanswered for hours. Not completely ignored, which was a relief, but still.

Now, here she was, five days without seeing Margaery, and this awful feeling in her stomach would not go away. No, Margaery wasn’t _avoiding_ her, but she knew that something was off.

Sansa might not have been an expert in love or relationships, but she’d spent so much considerable time in the last months talking to Margaery, both in and out of text, that she knew when something was out of the ordinary.

Margaery wasn’t ignoring her necessarily, but her messages were all very to-the-point. No _darling_ s or _sweetling_ s or flirty comments that made Sansa blush or sexual innuendo that made her stomach twist pleasantly.

Just. Straightforward answers and polite conversation.

It confused her, a lot. And it hurt her, more than it should. She _missed_ Margaery – she missed the personal touches of what made talking to Margaery so intimate in its own way, and she missed knowing what was going on with Margaery – how were her meetings and her debate preparations and was she taking good care of herself?

And this run, this five-mile run she and Lady were just finishing up, had hardly helped her gather her thoughts at all. Somehow it had just made her feel farther away from Margaery than she had before.

She slowed her pace considerably when she emerged from the outskirts of the trees, breathing heavy, as she looked up at her family’s home in the distance. She wasn’t quite ready to go back inside yet; there was still too much to think about.

With that thought, she took as deep a breath as she could muster, through her nose, and lightly stroked Lady’s head where she brushed against her hip, informing her, “We’re going to walk from here.”

Her dog’s bright eyes looked back at her, and she nudged her head gently back into Sansa’s hand as if she understood what she’d said. Sansa liked to believe she did.

Her phone vibrated from where it was in her armband, and she debated with herself about looking at it. It was somewhat of a personal rule for her to not check her phone while she was out on a run. Then again, the run itself was practically over, and she’d left in the middle of several conversations when she’d gone to clear her head.

Bracing her hands on her hips she bent forward, trying to regain her breath as the cold bit at her cheeks, she shook her head, murmuring, “I just don’t get it.”

Sansa sighed, shaking her head slightly, her hair, tied back into a ponytail, falling down over her shoulder. She took a few measured breaths, staring at the ground below, “I think she’s avoiding me,” she informed her dog, who stared dutifully up at her.

Saying the words aloud made her stomach twist uncomfortably, but it was the truth. “I just don’t understand _why_. Things were going so well…”

With another sigh, she straightened and used her sleeve to swipe back her hair before absently landing her hand lightly between Lady’s ears and scratching as they started their walk back, blue eyes narrowed in thought.

At least, she’d thought things had been going well. No, she corrected herself, they _were_.

Because the last time she’d seen Margaery, her friend had given her those earrings. The thought of the earrings, nestled safely on her bureau, had easily filled her with this – this warmth, ever since she’d received them.

She’d never gotten such a thoughtful gift from anyone she’d been dating before, in her life.

It wasn’t as though they were just pieces of jewelry; Margaery had gotten her breathtakingly beautiful pieces, without even knowing that Sansa had planned on giving her a little gift first. She’d thought of Sansa, she’d given her _sapphire_ earrings that – as Jeyne had said – matched Sansa’s eyes perfectly.

That matching wasn’t a coincidence; it couldn’t be. It was too exact.

And she knew Margaery didn’t have many friends. It was her own choice, but still. She knew Margaery chose to not keep the company of many other people, and maybe that could factor into some of the why behind the gift. Because Margaery only let a few people truly into her life and if Sansa was one of them, she’d wanted to give her something nice.

Sansa could reasonably accept that. She could accept that maybe the earrings were a friendly gift from Margaery, even if they stirred Sansa’s more-than-strictly-friendly feelings, even despite Jeyne’s not-so-subtle screeching about how _friends_ didn’t give other _friends_ jewelry that cost several hundred dollars, if not more.

“You especially don’t buy a _friend_ who you’re having supposedly stringless sex with jewelry. And definitely not jewelry like that,” her best friend had remarked on their plane ride home, while Sansa had still been on a high from the previous evening.

Despite the fact that she had a niggling thought – no, it was a hope, really – that Jeyne’s words could hold some merit, she’d rolled her eyes at her friend’s words, anyway.

The thing was, that Sansa could no longer deny at least to herself, she had real feelings involved. It wasn’t just an attraction and a crush, as it had been in the beginning. It was a love of the intimacy that she and Margaery had developed in the last months, it was a wanting to spend the night with Margaery as often as she could.

It was how she couldn’t get enough of spending time with Margaery, no matter what they were doing. It was how Margaery could set her entire body on fire with just a few words, with just a look, but then the way Sansa’s stomach swooped and trembled when Margaery would laugh at one of her jokes or do one of her unthinkingly sweet gestures.

So, yes, maybe Sansa had more than strictly friendly feelings with Margaery. Maybe the _lines_ had been blurred for her, but – but she still was figuring everything out.

And it didn’t change anything even if she did because her feelings weren’t _new_. She’d known that she’d had a crush on Margaery the entire time; the developing of real, true feelings wasn’t shocking in the least.

Besides, she’d been aware of them for weeks now, these feelings. Perhaps they’d been more prevalent in her thoughts in the last few days, but with Margaery acting so strangely, that couldn’t be helped.

Not to mention… well, she couldn’t help but think so much about the way Margaery had looked curled up on her couch the last time they’d seen one another. She’d been sick from her exhaustion, long eyelashes casting light shadows over her cheeks, with bags under her eyes. And Sansa had thought she was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

Like she could watch Margaery sleep, even while ill, for hours and not be bored. Of course, she’d reasoned with herself to not be creepy, and had made herself blush with the thought as she’d lightly tucked strands of light brown hair behind Margaery’s ear before she’d intended to walk away and go back into the kitchen to give Margaery some privacy.

Until Margaery had shifted slightly and whimpered when Sansa had pulled her hand away. Those big, doe eyes hadn’t even opened as Margaery had shifted again, and her voice had been heavy and rough with sleep, as she’d murmured, “Don’t go.”

She’d been utterly powerless to resist, her heart thudding in her chest pleasantly as she’d situated herself. And had only felt better and better when Margaery had nuzzled into her leg, seeming only to be truly restful when Sansa had started stroking her fingers through Margaery’s soft hair.

All of it, combined with the way Margaery had sleepily sighed out her name when she’d nuzzled against her in her sleep, it had been the last boundary to break inside of Sansa; there was no denying to herself from that moment that while she loved everything she had with Margaery now – their friendship and their sex life and every moment in between – that she would love to see whatever more they could maybe have.

Then, she’d been given those earrings and there was just no going back.

But even so, it wasn’t as though she’d acted any differently in spite of her acceptance of these feelings. Their interaction had been as normal as it usually was between them.

It wasn’t as though that hope inside of her that Margaery might be having these feelings too meant she expected Margaery to act on them in some romantic display. It wasn’t Margaery’s style, and Sansa knew that.

A groan worked its way out of her throat, unbidden, but she couldn’t help it. She was confused, and worried, and just – a little sad, if she was being honest. It mixed together unpleasantly and had been lodged in her stomach for days now, and she couldn’t get rid of it.

She didn’t think she would be able to until she figured out what exactly had changed. What had changed between the last time they’d seen each other and… like, less than a day later? What could have possibly happened to make Margaery be practically avoiding her?

The sound, however, drew Lady’s attention, and her dog’s eyes snapped to her. Seeming to sense her mood, her nose gently rubbed at the back of Sansa’s hand, and it was enough to drag just the smallest smile out of her, despite this heaviness she was feeling.

“I know Margaery and I aren’t together,” she spoke softly, “So maybe I’m just overreacting.”

Lady huffed out a breath gently against her hand.

“I don’t think so either,” she agreed.

Sansa knew that they weren’t girlfriends. She knew with a sharp, glaring truth that Margaery wasn’t under any kind of relationship-like obligation to call her or respond to her texts or anything like that with any sort of romantic undertone that Sansa had admittedly come to expect.

But they were still friends, at the very least. And the one time _Sansa_ had gone into avoidance mode – after the first night they’d had sex – Margaery had tracked her down the very next day to get answers from her. To make know how much their friendship meant to her.

And even if Sansa wanted to do that to Margaery, and if she had the courage to, she couldn’t anyway because she was here in Winterfell and Margaery was in King’s Landing.

“And do I even have the right to demand anything from her when it’s not like she’s _actually_ avoiding me in the first place?” she grumbled slightly, a frown tugging at her lips as she bit back yet another sigh.

She and Lady walked closer, the path from the trail in the woods widening into one of the walkways that would lead into the driveway.

“Maybe she isn’t even really avoiding me,” she murmured, trying to convince herself even though she knew she didn’t believe in it.

But _maybe_ … maybe Margaery really was just – just busy? She’d been not feeling well, coupled with the fact that she was genuinely nervous about the debate with Cersei. As nervous as Margaery let herself get, anyway, Sansa thought.

She knew it was the less likely scenario, though, even as she was hoping for it. And she’d been hoping to hold out until after the debate to see if Margaery’s communication with her got back to normal after the time for stress had passed.

She supposed she would know tonight, after the debate, if it was a valid theory.

The snow crunched under her feet, the grips on her running shoes holding tight as her breath puffed out in front of her, her parent’s house getting closer and closer.

She was trying to focus simply on the debate later this evening, trying to be positive about it, and hoping that Margaery wouldn’t seem like she was avoiding her afterwards. It had only been five days, but Sansa had missed her to the point of distraction.

She hoped it still wouldn’t be like this on Christmas in a few days. Missing Margaery, well if it was just that simple, she could handle it. Because it wasn’t so much shocking that she missed her in a way. What she couldn’t handle, though, was missing her because she was feeling like something was wrong.

With a sigh, she brought her hands up to swipe back any errant strands of hair that came loose during her run and then rubbed one of her hands lightly over her stomach that still felt like it was in knots.

“Hopefully everything will be normal after the debate, right?” she spoke quietly to Lady, trying to interject some optimism that she didn’t really feel into her tone, especially because she swore her dog’s big eyes looking at her were so attentive. Always in tune with how she was feeling.

She approached her parent’s house, worrying at her bottom lip even as she tried to shake herself out of it, tried to push Margaery out of her thoughts. Her family had helped with her thoughts of Margaery, at the very least. Though she’d spent a lot of time thinking about her not-girlfriend, she was lucky to be surrounded by her siblings and her parents at the holidays.

There was always _something_ going on. Something she could distract herself with until she watched the debate later, hopefully.

She paused to stretch before heading inside, arching her back to reach at her sneaker-covered foot and pulling upwards. As per their custom, Lady stretched her paws out in front of her, too, and it made Sansa smile a bit.

The front door opening caught her attention, and she turned to see her dad walking down the front porch steps. He seemed caught in his thoughts for a moment, before he noticed her, and changed direction to walk toward her instead of immediately to his car.

His gray eyes softened into a smile as he came closer, surveying out toward the trails she’d come back from, before returning to her, “How was the run? I haven’t had much time in the last few weeks to get out for a walk through the trails.”

She felt herself smiling back even as she shrugged, “It was good,” perhaps not as good as she would have liked, but still. “And – well, I’ll be glad to be back inside in a minute.”

The rush of the run was wearing off, and it was perfect timing for her to shiver as the wind picked up momentarily. Her light running leggings and jacket were fine attire, as long as she was still moving. But, as her dad was wearing, an actual jacket and pants that were thicker than these practical-tights were far more necessary casual clothing in the winter.

Ned nodded with an affectionate smile for his daughter that made Sansa’s smile a littler wider, “I’m just going for a drive to check in with the caterer for the New Year’s party. Your mom was going to, but she’s a little tied up with Arya and Rickon, getting them to help her organize the Christmas tree decorations for tomorrow. The car is already warmed if you want to join me for the drive?”

Sansa hesitated; while she wouldn’t necessarily mind joining her dad – and escaping the process of sorting and organizing the decorations – it was already after four in the afternoon, and she still had some things to do before settling in to watch Margaery’s debate in a few hours.

“I would but –”

_Wait_.

Blue eyes widened in realization, her dad’s words replaying in her head and settling on: the New Year’s Eve party.

Gods. What if the problem had been right in front of her the whole time?

Margaery had asked her about if Sansa had been the one to invite her to the party the last time they’d seen each other, and Sansa had barely thought anything of it; Margaery was a politician, her dad was a politician who invited several other politicians to this party. Well, politicians that her dad enjoyed as people, so there was a typical pool of people who attended, but still.

Sansa hadn’t thought anything about the invitation was weird – but Margaery clearly had. Because Sansa knew more than anyone about the fact that Margaery was resolutely _not_ open about her sexuality amongst other politicians.

She knew it was one of the few things that could truly make Margaery uncomfortable or even nervous. And if Margaery thought that she was invited to her parents’ party because of her – um, unique situation with Sansa…

She could feel herself blush at even the idea that her _dad_ could possibly suspect anything about her more than friendly relationship with her Margaery.

And the dumb thing was, she realized now and felt like she wanted to slap her palm to her forehead at her own foolishness, that she’d known Margaery’s tone at the time sounded off.

Margaery had a good mask in place; but Sansa liked to think that she’d gotten decently good at reading her. It was just that – well, Sansa hadn’t thought anything of the situation, really, beyond the fact that… well, _she’d_ been excited. Excited about having Margaery come to a celebration that was important to her, excited about seeing Margaery here with her family and friends.

Excited, and trying to hide her own excitement as to not make Margaery nervous about it.

She snapped her eyes to her dad, who was looking at her in slight concern, and still waiting for her to finish answer. And even though she tried to calm her suddenly wracked nerves, telling herself that there was _no way_ her dad thought she and Margaery were more-than-friends – there was no way he _could_ know – she found that she couldn’t not ask.

The words were already forming in her mouth in the word-vomiting way she knew she got sometimes, but detested.

Her hands came to entangle in front of her, as she bounced lightly, anxiously, in her running shoes, “Dad, um, can I ask you a question?”

She desperately was hoping that her dad would interpret the blush on her cheeks as just a reaction to the cold.

Her dad tilted his head, that concerned look in his eyes even more prominent, “Of course. Is everything okay?”

“I – yeah. Probably, I mean. Everything’s good,” she took a deep breath to cut herself off, inwardly groaning, as she felt Lady bump into her gently from behind, as if encouraging her, and it grounded her a bit. She reached back and rested her hand between Lady’s ears as she tried to keep her tone as neutral as possible, “I was just wondering… why did you invite Margaery to the party?”

She watched carefully as she dared without trying to seem _too_ invested in the matter at hand despite the fact that she was.

And she waited on baited breath, catching and holding as she waited for a flicker of recognition to reflect on her father’s face. Gods, it was – it all felt more complicated than simply her _feelings_ at that moment.

Complicated because she knew that her father would never divulge information about Margaery’s sexuality to his constituents and she knew that he wouldn’t think twice about it, really. But – but it was a big deal to Margaery. And Sansa did not want to be involved in any reason as a guilty party for outing her not-girlfriend.

But those gray eyes, comforting in different ways than her mother’s astute blue ones that so well matched her own, held her gaze with a confused frown, “Margaery?”

Her hand lightly stroked at Lady for a moment, “Margaery Tyrell? My – my friend, you met her a few months ago? She’s running for –”

_There_ was the recognition dawning, “Ah, right, Margaery Tyrell, your friend running for the small council seat,” he murmured with a nod.

“Yeah,” she sighed out with cautious relief. The thing was, though, that her dad was not one who would play any sort of game or try to keep Sansa in the dark about a matter that involved her. So, the fact that he clearly didn’t know what she was talking about was a huge indicator in and of itself. Her stomach seemed to unknot itself just a bit as she added, “She got invited to the party. Kind of a late addition, really.”

He brought a hand up to rub at his chin, a gesture that was such a familiar sight for her it made her smile just a bit, “Right, right, I remember her RSVP coming in just last week.” There was a considering look in his eye as he looked back down at Sansa, “You know, I’ve been keeping up with the election, and your friend is actually a fairly impressive candidate for such a young age.”

There was a warm flicker in his gaze and in the way his lips quirked slightly.

It told Sansa several things: one, that he really _didn’t_ know anything about the nature of her friendship with Margaery beyond simple friendship, and two, that he genuinely seemed to be impressed with Margaery.

Her father rarely had kind, encouraging words to say about southern political leeches – his own words that she’d heard from him in the past. It made a warmth in her chest blossom, though, at the thought that he liked Margaery, without knowing anything about Sansa’s feelings.

And then there was this relief. Because if this truly was why Margaery was acting _off_ , Sansa could alleviate it. And, _gods_ , she hoped it would be this easy, because if this wasn’t the reason, she didn’t have any other guesses.

“Yeah! Yes, she’s actually really impressive, dad,” she tried to keep the wide smile that wanted to stretch over her face, this proud smile, to a minimum. “Is that why you decided to invite her?” she hedged the question, just needing to hear the confirmation.

Ned met her smile with a small one of her own even as he shook his head slightly, “It wasn’t actually me who invited her. Your mother wanted to invite her,” he added with a light shrug.

The relief that she’d been feeling fell, drastically.

“It was _mom_?” the words left her _too_ quickly.

But she couldn’t even really care, because – on the one hand, it was good that her dad didn’t know or suspect anything about her and Margaery. But on the other hand, her mom, who was so much better at reading Sansa and finding out her children’s truths, had apparently been the one to invite her.

Her mom, who knew about Sansa’s sexuality.

But… she hadn’t _told_ her mother about Margaery; her mother hadn’t even met the other woman, beyond that one very brief introduction a few months ago.

She hoped her nerves and confusion weren’t as apparent on her face as they were in her stomach but she thought they must be, with the way her dad was looking at her, “Yes, she brought up inviting her a couple of weeks ago. Truly, Sansa, are you all right? Is there a reason you don’t want Margaery at the party?”

“No!” she denied, her voice a bit higher than she wished, feeling her cheeks flush in the bite of the wind.

Other than the fact that she was having regular sex with the woman, that she liked Margaery as more than simply a sex-friend, and that she was almost positive that this party could be the cause of Margaery’s mild-anxiety inducing avoidance.

Wait – “A couple of weeks ago?”

Because Sansa could think of one linking thing that had come into contact with both Margaery and her mom in the past couple of weeks. One linking _person_ , really.

Setting her jaw, it was all she could do to not groan in irritation as she thought of the disastrous night when Arya had walked into her apartment to meet Margaery half-clothed…

“I have to talk to Arya! I’ll see you later dad,” she offered him a wave before she was hurrying into the house, Lady on her heels.

Gods, if Arya had said something to their mom about herself and Margaery was going to result in what they had between them not going as well as it had been, she would kill her.

It was easy to find her sister, in the den with Rickon and their mother, with Christmas music playing on the Bluetooth speakers. True to her father’s word, there were decorations splayed out from where they’d been stored in the attic after last Christmas.

“How about you let me just put on _my_ ornament? Just the one,” Rickon asked their mother, presenting her with “his” ornament, the one that marked his first Christmas after he’d been born.

They all had them, each with the day of their birth engraved into it, given as gifts on their first Christmas. Their tree this year stood tall and wide, displayed proudly in front of the bay window, but still bare despite it only being three days before Christmas.

The lights and tinsel and various ornaments were being unpacked and set out for when they would finally have everyone home to decorate together.

Their mom crossed her arms, her mouth set in that firm way she’d managed so easily with them even in the face of Rickon’s best puppy-eyes. The way that told them No, in no uncertain terms, without even needing words.

“I just told you, darling, that we aren’t decorating the tree until tomorrow night when Jon comes home. We’ve never not decorated the tree together and we aren’t starting it this year,” she nodded as he placed his birth year ornament back down with an exaggerated sigh.

Her youngest brother dropped his head back dramatically, “I’ve had to wait to decorate the tree for weeks! It’s just been sitting here, waiting for me, and now that the ornaments are finally down from the attic, I still have to wait? First we can’t have the Christmas cookies until tomorrow and now this.”

Cat grinned, a fond, indulgent quirk of her lips as she continued to unpack and organize the ornaments in the methodical way she’d always effortlessly had. “It’s a difficult life you lead, love.”

Rickon’s eyes sparkled back at her in amusement as he fell in line next to her and seamlessly worked along with her organizational system, “Tell me about it.”

Sansa shook her head lightly at the scene, feeling that familiar warm pull of _family_ in her chest for a moment. These were the moments she missed when she was in King’s Landing, no matter how comfortably she’d made her home there.

Still – right now wasn’t the time; she had a purpose at the moment, and she zeroed in on Arya. Her sister was mumbling slightly to herself as she stacked the boxes the decorations had come in, but her attention was fixed to the television, which was on silent but, Sansa noted with a glance, was hosting some sort of MMA fight.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she cast another look toward her mom and Rickon, who were talking quietly across the room before she quickly walked toward her sister.

Purposefully, she kept her voice low as she got right to the point, “Did you tell mom?”

Arya’s attention was on the television still, as someone was knocked to the ground, and her response was a distracted, “What?”

Blue eyes flickered to her mom, because unless she really _did_ know something, Sansa didn’t want to alert her to anything. Still though, she was losing her patience, “About Margaery,” she expanded in a whisper, “What did you tell mom about Margaery?”

_That_ got Arya’s attention, and finally her sister turned her head to look at her, with a familiar glint in her eye. Teasing, mischievous, “Oh, you mean, the girl who came stumbling out of your room half-naked a couple of weeks ago, that Margaery?”

Irritation and embarrassment flashed through her, coiled tightly, and she had to bite hard onto her lip to contain herself, “ _Yes_ that Margaery.”

That damned smirk didn’t go away even as her sister shrugged, “Why would you think I said anything?”

Sansa crossed her arms, holding tight to herself, “Because all of the sudden, Margaery got invited to the New Year’s Eve party and it just so happened that it was _after_ you saw… what you saw… in my apartment.”

Gods, Arya looked like she was having far too much enjoyment out of watching Sansa stumble over trying to find the right words. She quirked an eyebrow, “Oh, and you, the sister who’s been meddling in _my_ relationship with Gendry for years – including talking to mom about it – is now blaming me for mom trying to meddle into your love life.”

Well if _that_ wasn’t some sort of confirmation, Sansa didn’t know what was. And still, indignation rose in the back of her throat, “I never told mom anything about your _sex life_ even when I have ample chance,” she hissed back, “What did you tell her?”

“Seven hells, Sansa, I didn’t tell mom or dad or anyone about your stupid girlfriend!” Arya burst out in a loud snap rather than the whispers and murmurs they’d been talking in.

She didn’t think it really mattered that the Christmas song playing in the background was fading out at the same time that Arya spoke, but it definitely _felt_ like it helped to amplify the sound.

And everything felt like it came to a halt, including Sansa’s heart, as both Rickon and their mother sharply turned to look at them.

“Arya!” blue eyes narrowed at her sister and she _barely_ resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands because _gods_ why did stuff like this always seem to happen to her?

“You have a girlfriend?!” Rickon shouted from across the room, surprise all over his tone.

Her and Rickon’s twin shouts seemed to echo around the room, along with a snicker from her sister. But maybe that was just because she swore she could hear the blood rushing in her ears.

And – Sansa had barely had this sexuality conversation with anyone aside from her mother and sister and her youngest brother whom she loved dearly but who had a very, very large mouth was not the next person she would have chosen to tell on the host of options she had.

Her cheeks absolutely _burned_ , “No!”

Her brother ignored her, blue eyes imploring excitedly as he dropped the ornament he was holding and came bounding over closer to her, “Is she pretty?”

As if unable to stop herself, all she could picture was an image of Margaery’s grinning face. And her stomach dipped low, because this was _not_ how she wanted this to go. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

She wondered if it was a curse that her family knew her well enough to know when her emotions were betraying her, even her youngest brother.

Angry, she turned back to face her sister, “I can’t believe you! You can’t just – just yell about that!”

Gray eyes turned stormy, Arya turned to square off against her, hands on hips, “You’re the one who came in here, yelling at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell! I _asked_. Quietly,” she added, before taking a deep breath and trying to gather herself.

Which was somewhat difficult when her brother came up next to her to ask, “Is she nice?”

“Yes,” the word fell from her mouth and – damn. “I mean – no! She, uh, we aren’t…”

Gods, she couldn’t stand herself. She groaned, burying her face in her hands and somehow wishing she could take back everything and just go back to suffering in silence about Margaery.

“That’s quite enough of all this,” Catelyn’s voice cut through everything in that effective way she managed and Sansa didn’t think she had ever been more grateful to hear it, especially when her mom’s hand landed on her shoulder in quiet comfort, “Rickon, go to the kitchen and start cutting the vegetables for dinner. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“But –” he gestured widely toward Sansa and Arya, indignant, “I want to know!”

Their mother silenced him with a look, and he sent Sansa big, begging eyes. That had always worked well on her, admittedly, more than they did on their other siblings. But she couldn’t focus on them with the way her stomach was in knots so tightly.

Though, it did make her relieved to note that there was no sense of judgement in those eyes or really even confusion. Okay, maybe that did help loosen the knots.

Her brother heaved a sigh, “I’m the only one who even lives here anymore and I _still_ get kicked out when the good stuff happens.”

“Rickon –”

He quickly held his hands up in surrender at the tone in Cat’s voice, “I’m going! I was just saying.”

She waited until he had shuffled out of the room before lifting her hands in front of both Sansa and Arya, pre-emptively cutting off anything they were going to say, “Sansa, sweet, I was the one who decided to invite Margaery to the party, without any prompting from your sister.”

“I told you,” Arya huffed out, crossing her arms in annoyance.

Their mother gave Arya another look, before turning to face Sansa. And her eyes, so like Sansa’s, sought hers out, catching and holding with a look of warmth and patience, “After Arya mentioned meeting her –”

That warm comfort so easily taken from her mom dissipated with a feeling of vindication welling up inside of her, as she narrowed her eyes, “I _knew_ you said something.”

Because how in the world would the timing match up otherwise?

“Oh, barely,” Arya shot back, rolling her eyes, “I told mom that I met your dumb friend. Literally that’s all I said; not that I met her pantsless in your apartment at two in the morning.”

Sansa barely restrained herself from whacking her sister in the arm, mostly because she knew their mother would start to lose patience with both of them and because her little sister was more muscle than anything else. Instead, she settled on a glare even as she felt herself blush again, “Arya, gods, can you just _stop_?”

Sansa could live with the fact that apparently now her little brother knew she wasn’t straight. And she could even deal with the fact that he had a big mouth and that for all she knew, he’d already told their other siblings. She could not live with everyone knowing that tidbit.

Seven hells, she could barely stand to know that Arya had said it in front of their mother. This awful mortification might never really go away.

She wondered if her mom somehow sensed it, as she turned to Arya, “Arya, please bring the empty boxes back into the attic.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “I’m being punished even though I didn’t do anything?”

Cat arched an eyebrow, “You aren’t being punished, darling, I just want to talk to your sister.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed, dipping a bit to grab at the stack of boxes the decorations had come from. “I’m going to leave to go to the airport and pick up Gendry after,” she tossed over her shoulder without looking back.

“You know where my keys are,” Cat called after her, before she took a deep breath and turned toward Sansa.

Who was fastidiously avoiding her gaze, because – ugh – all she could think about now was the fact that her mother knew that Margaery walked around her apartment without pants. Not that it even mattered to have that confirmation, apparently.

“Sansa, please look at me,” Cat urged, her voice a murmur, as she reached out and placed her hands lightly on Sansa’s shoulders. It was enough to make Sansa pull her eyes away from the floor where she’d been focused and instead look up and meet her mother’s blue gaze. Her thumbs stroked in gentle, comforting circles against Sansa’s shoulders as she said, “I didn’t need Arya to tell me that your friendship with Margaery is… special.”

It was too easy to lean into the comforting touch, “You didn’t?”

“My beautiful girl, you’ve talked about Margaery Tyrell with me only a handful of times but whenever you do, you get this smile,” her mom lifted one of her hands up to gentle swipe her thumb over Sansa’s chin in a gesture she’d done to make her smile since before she could remember.

Sansa flushed, though, dropping her head back in embarrassment, her stomach clenching even as she shook her head, “No, I don’t.”

Her denial was weak, though, because she could only imagine if she grinned in any way that reflected at all how Margaery made her feel.

And now her mom smiled back, “You do, darling, and it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen someone make you smile like that, if I ever have. So it occurred to me after your sister mentioned meeting Margaery – in passing – that I, too, would like to meet this girl.”

Worrying at her bottom lip, she pressed, “She – she really didn’t tell you?”

“She really didn’t,” her mother assured, “So, you might want to apologize for that. All she told me that she met her when she came to see you, but no details.” A thoughtful look crossed over her, blue eyes playful, as she tilted her head, “I didn’t know about the no pants aspect until moments ago.”

“Mom!” Sansa jerked back so her mother’s hands fell and a surprised, choked-off laugh escaped her. Bringing her hands up, she rubbed at her cheeks as if hoping to get rid of her blush – which she was almost entirely certain was going to stain her face at this point.

After a few moments, she managed to take in a deep breath and her sneaker kicked lightly at the ground as she peered back up at her mom. Who, for all of her credit, looked completely composed.

“Margaery really isn’t my girlfriend, though,” she informed her, keeping her voice level, but needing her mom to know, “She’s just – we’re friends.”

“I have no designs on interrogating the woman, Sansa,” Cat assured with a gentle smile, “I’d just like to meet her.”

Still… Sansa shook her head, “Really mom. She’s… Margaery, she isn’t _out_ – like, in public – because of her career and I don’t want to be the reason that anyone knows. I just mean, you know, that should be her own thing.”

Because for all that she hoped Margaery had real feelings back for her, she knew that this was something that played a large factor in Margaery’s life. Of course, Margaery had discussed it in the past as simply a matter of not wanting a relationship to distract her from her goals, and Sansa didn’t necessarily doubt that.

But given how she concealed her sexuality – deleting her _WomenLovingWomenofWesteros_ profile and deliberately not telling Sansa who she was or where she worked way back when they’d first started speaking – well, it told Sansa a whole second part of the story.

Her mom seemed to understand exactly what she wanted to say, and she nodded, giving Sansa one of those warm, proud looks that she’d always relished in, “I haven’t even discussed it with your father, I promise you.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders at that, relief flooding through her. Because while she’d been anxious about the idea that her parents knew about herself and Margaery being more than friends, there was just no way she didn’t trust that look on her mother’s face. The look that promised her acceptance and solidarity.

That while maybe she _knew_ they were more than friends, she wasn’t going to tell anyone, especially in a way that it could get around to Margaery in any way.

And at least now that she knew where the invite had come from, maybe she could try to work with it to assure Margaery that there was nothing she should be stressed about.

“Thank you,” she murmured, taking a deep breath before letting her head drop back a bit, her ponytail swinging down her back.

Her mom got that look on her face like she wanted to say something else, but before she did, Rickon poked his head back in, “Um, nothing’s wrong or anything,” he started with a winning smile, “But hypothetically, if I were to have knocked the flour onto the floor, what is the best way to pick it all up?”

Sansa couldn’t help but smile, a chuckle working its way out of her. Especially when she saw, now, the light dusting of flour in her brother’s hair that he’d obviously tried to dust away.

Cat let out a long-suffering sigh, “You were supposed to start the vegetables, love. What in the world were you doing with the flour?”

Before her brother could launch into his explanation, Sansa looked down at herself – still wearing her clothes from her run – and cleared her throat, “I should shower before dinner.”

“You should,” her mom agreed, and it was soft, but teasing. Enough to make Sansa giggle slightly, even as Rickon laughed.

And even though her whole… whatever was going on with Margaery wasn’t resolved, Sansa felt better as she left the den, with Lady on her heels.

It was two hours, a long and thoughtful hot shower, a family dinner in which Rickon regaled them all with the story about how trying it was to clean Shaggydog of all of the flour he’d rolled in after he’d spilled it on the kitchen floor later that found Sansa settled in the living room.

It was where their biggest television was, and she wanted to see Margaery’s debate in all possible glory.

Which was probably why she was a half hour early, settled onto the couch. The tv was already tuned into KLU, with various news anchors speaking in the background while the cameras showed the two empty podiums up on the stage.

She felt an odd combination of worry and pride and excitement as she fiddled with her phone, delaying unlocking it to view the message she knew she had waiting from Arya. She hadn’t read it yet, but she’d been illogically hoping that… well, that she would have heard from Margaery. And that by somehow putting off the message

Silly and illogical because it was the night of the debate. Right _before_ the debate, really.

Even if Margaery had been acting normally in the last few days, she still might have very well shut off her phone to get in the right headspace for the event that she’d been preparing for for weeks.

She just wanted…

She couldn’t help herself, and sighed as she unlocked her phone and typed out a message. Monitoring herself, her texts – especially texts that she _would_ send to any other friend in this position! – well, it wasn’t what she’d been doing with Margaery so far.

And she didn’t intend to start now.  

_**Sansa – 7:30PM**_  
 _I just wanted to say good luck in the debate._  
_Even though I know for a fact that you’re going_  
_to be amazing! Cersei has nothing on you._

She sent it with a deep breath and some butterflies in her stomach, hoping that she was going to hear back before the debate even though she knew it was unlikely.

Besides, she still hadn’t quite worked out what exactly she was going to tell her about the invitation. She didn’t want to tell her that her mother knew about their more than strictly friends involvement, but she didn’t want to lie, either.

Tapping her thumbs lightly against the sides of her phone, she waited for a few seconds and stared at their texts from the last few days, before switching to the message she had waiting for her.

_**Arya – 7:18PM**    
can u keep the front door unlocked? gendry’s plane   _  
_just landed & were going to get drinks in wintertown   _  
_before heading back home but i left my housekey in_  
_my room_

_**Sansa – 7:33PM**  
Yeah, I’ll check it before I go up to bed later._

Biting her lip, she thought back to the way her mother had assured her again after dinner that Arya hadn’t mentioned anything about Margaery, really. Her sister had already left to drive to the airport by then, though, so she didn’t have time to say anything.

She sighed.

_**Sansa – 7:34PM**_  
_And I’m sorry for accusing you earlier, for thinking_  
_that you told mom about everything with Margaery._

_**Arya – 7:37PM**  _  
_thanks for the door thing_

_**Arya – 7:40PM**  _  
_and its fine. i guess if it came down between me and_  
_mom for someone being all sneaky and shit i would_  
_probably have thought it was me, too_

The fact that Sansa could almost hear the words in her head as if Arya said them right to her – almost teasing but with that underlying edge of seriousness – made her shoulders relax as a small grin tugged at her lips.

_**Arya – 7:45PM**_  
_and i guess im sorry too. not for mentioning your_  
_“friend” to mom or whatever bc I didnt do anything_  
_wrong with that_

**_Arya – 7:46PM_** _  
_ _but for like yelling about her being your gf_

And, there it was. That little bit about Arya just being _Arya_ – a little sister, by many accounts being irritating, but also genuine in that way she had. Straight-up.

Sansa leaned back into the couch a little, cuddling back under the blanket she’d brought down from her room to wrap herself up in.

_**Sansa – 7:49PM**  
It’s okay. But, thanks._

Feeling her stomach knot slightly again from anticipation, she looked back up at the television, just in time for the moderator to step up onto the dais. Her eyes widened in excitement and she quickly reached for the remote to turn up the volume.

Just in time to hear, “And we will be joined by our candidates, who are currently backstage, in just a few minutes.”

Backstage! Margaery was backstage!

Sansa could feel herself smiling in excitement, just imagining the stacks of notes and the practice debates Margaery had done up to this point. She was positive it was all going to pay off.

And –

When her phone vibrated in her lap, she looked down quickly, expecting a text from Arya. And she was shocked when it was Margaery, who was not texting her, but _calling_.

She quickly looked back and forth between the television with the empty podiums and then back to her phone, and she knew that the excitement she felt coursing through her was ridiculous. But, well, it had been less than a week and she missed Margaery’s voice.

Shaking her head at herself, she rolled her eyes at the fact that it was taking her so long to answer, and took a deep breath before she unlocked her phone, “Hello? Margaery?”

There was a beat of silence – well, she could hear muffled sounds in the background, but other than that it was silent – before a deep exhale and, “Sansa, hi.”  

Just hearing Margaery’s voice made this feeling of warmth start in the pit of her stomach and expand outwards, sliding through her like a comfort after the last days of undefinable quiet. She smiled with it for just a moment, before confusion swept in, “Not that I mind that you called, but isn’t your debate in,” quickly, she ducked her head a bit to look back at the television, “Eight minutes?”

There was another moment before Margaery breathed out a soft chuckle, “Yes, and I have to be ready to go in five. But I was just wondering – you read my notes regarding climate change last week right? I was reviewing them after I had my microphone fitted a few minutes ago and I’m hoping to talk to you about them, just a quick review again, before I go onstage.”

Margaery’s voice was hushed a bit quieter than usual, Sansa thought probably because she was most definitely backstage and surrounded by many people. But she didn’t waiver in her chatting about her debate notes. There wasn’t a single tremble in her tone, and she sounded just as confident as Sansa thought she usually did.

But she tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes in thought, as she shifted the phone closer to her ear. Because this was perhaps even more concerning than the somewhat not-quite-avoiding avoidance of the last few days, and Sansa’s mouth fell open in surprise when she realized.

“Are you nervous?” Because there was no other feasible reason she could think of to cause Margaery to call her, minutes before the debate began. Why she would call anyone, when Margaery _knew_ every note and preparation plan she’d come up with backwards and forwards.

“What?” Margaery scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

And to her credit, she sounded entirely incredulous at Sansa’s mere suggestion.

But still, a smile tugged at the edges of her lips, and she settled back into her seat, “Okay,” she agreed easily even though there was no way she believed it. “But, if you _were_ , it would be normal. And you would have nothing to be nervous about.”

Margaery took in a deep breath and released it, before she spoke again, this time a bit louder, “I truly _know_ that I am better spoken than Cersei Lannister. That I’m more knowledgeable on every relevant topic, and that I can talk circles around her on any platform.”

Sansa could not only hear the conviction in her tone, but she knew for a fact Margaery felt that confident about herself. Especially in relation to Cersei.

But she also knew that in spite of that, there was that small underlying bout of nerves Margaery had when it came to this election. That small, underlying faction that had Margaery constantly thinking, planning, and working out every contingency plan.

And Sansa, for her part, couldn’t blame her. She knew for a fact that Margaery was a better politician, a better person, and more than that the _right_ person for this. But she also knew how underhanded Cersei could be.

Most of all, she knew that Margaery would not confess to most people – if anyone – about her pervasive worries of Cersei’s possibility at winning. She hadn’t even confessed it to Sansa; it was just something she’d put together.

And, either way… Margaery was calling _her_ right before the big debate.

It was Sansa she was turning to, out of anyone she had the option of contacting. And she didn’t have time at the moment to possibly think about what that could mean – though she very much wanted to – especially in relation to the last few days.

But hopefully it meant that she had been overreacting to Margaery’s somewhat-avoidance. Even if Sansa didn’t quite think she was.

So, she settled on a genuine, “I know. I know you can. You’re smarter than almost anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re more than prepared for this. I wasn’t just saying it in my text, but I truly believe… well, I believe in you,” she finished quietly.

A soft, relieved breath was released from Margaery, and Sansa shivered like she could feel it through the line, “Thank you.” She released a soft chuckle, “I’m sorry for calling you up like this at the last minute, though I appreciate the pep talk.”

“It’s okay,” she desperately wanted to tell Margaery that it was okay – _more than okay_ – to call her whenever she needed to. Or wanted to. And it was something she would say to a friend, truly, but she held herself back because she also knew that saying the words to Margaery wasn’t exactly just friendly.

Because Sansa wanted to hear Margaery’s voice just for the sake of hearing her voice.

Plus, she didn’t want to risk making anything more different between them.

So she simply finished with, “I promised that I would watch, and I’m watching for you. So, you’d better win.”

“Ah, a threat. A different tactic than I would expect from the likes of you Ms. Stark,” finally, there was that familiar teasing lilt to Margaery’s tone that she’d been missing.

For days.

Before she could say anything though, there was a muffled voice from somewhere behind Margaery and the other woman sighed, “I have to go. I would say wish me luck, but I’d like to believe I won’t need it.”

“You have it anyway,” she answered, and her stomach clenched with the want to _be_ there. “So, good luck!”

They hung up after goodbyes, and Sansa quickly moved to turn the television up once again. Though she’d been comfortably leaned back into the couch, she quickly sat forward, finding herself unable to remain relaxed and comfortable.

For as nervous as she thought Margaery might have been – enough to call her, anyway – Sansa found herself to be most likely even more nervous as soon as the moderator came back to attention.

Tension built in her shoulders as she leaned forward just as Margaery was introduced and called out onto the stage.

And the moment that Margaery walked out onto the stage, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat, her stomach alight with butterflies. Because Margaery – the same one who was on the phone with her only minutes ago – was confident and poised, a warm but knowing smile on her lips.

A trademark, really.

All of that long, curling hair that Sansa knew to be so soft to the touch, half-up and half-down. Out of her face, but still falling over her shoulders – professional but young. She was wearing a black dress, conservative enough that there could be no feasible complains about being too revealing, but not so much that it was in any way unflattering. Everything was a planned and measured calculation that served to make her look as good as her mind was sharp.

It made her grin, despite the nerves.

Cersei and Margaery shook hands, and Sansa took a deep breath; she’d never felt this exhilarated for any political debate she’d ever watched before with her family. But she was ready to watch this woman that she was friends-with-benefits-with-more-than-friendly-feelings-for win.

Within the first twenty minutes, Cersei had successfully evaded an in-depth discussion about the topic of climate change and the importance of caring for their earth, while Margaery’s response had been to detail her future plans on the matter – with a barely there but under-toned jab at having a proper response.

Sansa’s smile had been so wide her cheeks hurt.

The next bit brought up plans for global business and trade, and while Sansa would admit that Cersei did have an actual plan for, though not one her family, herself, or Margaery necessarily agreed with. And while it wasn’t one of Margaery’s platforms, not one of the main issues she concerned herself with on her own campaign, she was never uninformed. It showed in the easy answer in spite of the lack of specific platform.

And Sansa’s stomach tightened, even as she was happy with Margaery’s answer, but because of Cersei’s slight jabs back at Margaery.

Nearing the end, over an hour later, Cersei made a final commentary on art programs in schools and the art funding in general as a big priority in this campaign. And Margaery returned with a measured look before nodding at Cersei, and, “On this matter, I agree with my opponent about the arts being an important and valuable asset in our communities and in life. And I know that it is a matter you feel very strongly about. However, sometimes what your personal concerns are in comparison to the more serious matters that very much need to be attended to aren’t necessarily the same thing.”

It wasn’t her last remark overall, but it was delivered with such derision and such conviction that even Cersei seemed to be momentarily at a loss for words. It was, in Sansa’s opinion, how Margaery won the debate.

Forgetting herself for a moment, because she was wrapped up in the debate and caught up in the small smile on Margaery’s face as the audience broke out in applause, Sansa found herself squealing and grinning from ear to ear.

_**Sansa – 9:35PM**_  
_I knew you’d be amazing! I’m really happy for_  
_you!!_

~/~/~

It was just after midnight that found Sansa tucked into bed and finally managing to fall asleep.

It was snowing outside, and she kept the curtains open even though she knew the morning light, glinting off all of the fresh snow, would be unbelievably bright. But she liked to keep an eye on the way the flurries blew past the window outside.

That, with the warmth of Lady curled up next to her, was a warm comfort that easily relaxed her. Easily made her eyes feel heavier, which wasn’t difficult anyway, given that it was later than she usually stayed awake.

Except, of course, on the nights she’d spent with Margaery. But when she was in bed with Margaery and she felt her body warmth so close, and even the small spaces between where they touched felt electric – well, she never felt tired during those nights.

Not until after that wanting had been sated, anyway.

Even despite this familiar feeling that used to lull her to sleep, in her very familiar bed in the room she’d grown up in, Sansa had felt somewhat wired when she’d curled up in bed earlier. It didn’t come as any shock to her system that once again it was because of Margaery.

But watching Margaery like that, so in control and so informed and just always having not only something to retort, but the _right_ thing to retort – Sansa found herself exorbitantly proud of her. And not that she’d ever been bored by politics or even debates, it was just that it had never been her own passion.

Tonight had felt different. Personal.

And not only had she known that Margaery had technically, for all intents and purposes, won the debate as soon as it had ended, but it seemed that was the general consensus as well. At least, according to all of the news websites Sansa had been scrolling through on her phone before she had finally made herself put it down to really try to get some sleep.

And she _certainly_ hadn’t been staying up in order to wait a while to hear from Margaery post-debate. Well, not more than just a little bit, anyway.

Margaery hadn’t responded to her text, but Sansa wasn’t sure if she could, or should, attribute that to the potential avoidance of the prior few days. After all, this debate was one of the biggest milestones in Margaery’s professional career. Really, in her life.

So, Sansa had chosen to chalk that one text up to the fact that it was a big night and Margaery was surrounded by her family and people who wanted to celebrate with her.

Just because Sansa very much wished she could be a part of that at the moment, she certainly couldn’t begrudge Margaery celebrating herself.

She turned her face against her pillow and sighed lightly, hating this feeling in her stomach. This insane combination of feelings – the confusion and anxiety of wondering if something was wrong with Margaery, and if it had to do with the party invitation. The fact that Robb had texted her before she’d gone to bed to inquire about the fact that Rickon had texted him asking if he knew who Sansa’s girlfriend was certainly didn’t help matters in the least.

Then added into the mix was the exhilaration and the excitement of the debate – plus, this feeling in the pit of her stomach that was just plain missing Margaery…

Well, it was enough to make it difficult to sleep.

Still, she curled her hand into Lady’s fur, tiredly resting there as she started to nod off.

Only to jerk up, her eyes opening a bit frantically as her heart pounded at the sound of an incoming call. Lady’s head darted up too, looking around, at attention.

Shaking her head, her heart calming, Sansa tried to calm her dog too, with a slightly clumsy from sleep.

“Gods, what a horrible sound. I know, Lady, I know,” she murmured, squinting slightly in the dark as her eyes adjusted as she narrowed her eyes trying to locate where she’d placed her phone on the edge of the bed.

All of her hard-won sleepiness completely scattered, though, when she saw that it was Margaery calling. And not just a regular phone call, but a FaceTime call. Quickly drawing her hand through her hair, she answered.

Gods, she was excited. She was already debating with herself whether or not she should bring up their lack of communication or not, because she’d told herself that she would the next time they spoke. 

But she immediately was blinking blearily as the video she was seeing shook and waivered, moving around and shifting so much that it might make her dizzy. Maybe this excitement was misplaced, though…

Because given the fact that Margaery’s face wasn’t actually visible and in fact, it looked like Margaery was… walking? Sansa thought maybe this was an accidental call.

Blowing out a breath, Sansa cleared her throat, “Margaery? Um… are you there?”

The motions on the phone stilled, and after a moment – and a muffled curse coming from Margaery that made Sansa smile – she was face-to-face with the other woman. Margaery’s hair was a bit mussed, as opposed to the perfectly styled look she’d had on television earlier, and her face was washed free of makeup.

And Sansa’s heart skipped a beat in her chest at the smile that was on Margaery’s face, “Sansa, you’re here.”

Okay, definitely not an accidental call, then. That much was more relieving than she could properly say – than she _should_ properly say. But… it had been a long almost-week of herself initiating texts or calls, to almost no avail.

“I am,” she answered slowly, “Where are you?” she asked as Margaery continued to walk – she could see the slight blurring of the background behind Margaery as she continued to walk. This time keeping her face onscreen, though.

“My apartment. I just got home for the night, actually. I was taking off my coat when I started the call, so I apologize for that,” Margaery sighed, humming softly under her breath, as she spun the camera so that Sansa could see for a fact that Margaery had indeed just entered her bedroom.

The humming was… odd, and Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly in a bit of confusion at it. Still, she shrugged, “It’s all right. I’m – I’m glad to hear from you,” she told Margaery, truthfully, quietly. And she huffed out a light laugh as Lady sat up farther, nudging against her face lightly to see the source of light, Sansa’s phone.

As Margaery turned her phone back to her face, and her smile quickly disappeared, instead replaced with a wide eyed look of what Sansa thought was shock, that she’d never quite seen before on Margaery’s face, “Gods! Sansa, there’s a wolf in your bed?”

Her tone was teasing but also with an underlying tone of genuine alarm, as if she couldn’t decide which one to use, and Sansa couldn’t help but let out a loud laugh, before she managed to cover her mouth – remembering that she was at her parent’s house and it was after midnight, “This is my dog, Lady! I told you about her. Not a wolf, though she is a descendant of a direwolf, aren’t you?” she cooed softly at Lady, who wagged her tail at the tone and rubbed her face against Sansa’s.

Margaery watched with a tentative smile, even though her eyebrows remained doubtfully raised just a bit, “If you say so,” her teasing was more pronounced now, but even so a bit apprehensive.

“I do,” she nodded, before she pointed at Margaery and Lady followed her lead, “This is Margaery. Margaery, this is Lady. Aside from Jeyne, my best friend growing up.”

And those large brown eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she leaned in closer to the camera and cleared her throat, “Nice to meet you, Lady.”

Her tone that waivered somewhere between serious and playful as she greeted her dog made Sansa’s heart flip-flop in her chest, regarding Margaery with a warm smile. A smile that she could _see_ in the camera reflection of herself on the top corner of the screen was exactly what her mother had described earlier that day.

And… wow, she could see exactly why her mom had caught on to her feelings for her friend, if that was the way she smiled at her all of the time.

Trying to shake herself out of it, though she wasn’t entirely certain how to stop smiling like that, she resolutely diverted her gaze back to Margaery. Who was staring right back at her, eyes dark, and the corner of her mouth tugged up in her smirk.

Well, almost like her smirk – it was a bit deeper, almost lascivious, and… were her eyes a bit glassier than usual? Added in with the late-night FaceTime call that had started out so imbalanced as she’d walked, the previous quiet humming under her breath, and –

It dawned on her in that moment, “Are you drunk?”

Her mouth dropped open a bit in surprise. She’d known from months ago, back in the very beginning before they’d met, when Margaery had given her tips and stories about picking up and hooking up with women, that it wasn’t as though Margaery never drank.

However, in the months that they’d been talking, Margaery hadn’t had more than one glass of any alcoholic drink at a time. Well, that was in public. She’d maybe have two when she’d had dinners and nights in with Sansa a few times, but not even enough to be really tipsy.

Margaery had explained months ago, that she wouldn’t indulge at all beyond a single glass while in public, that those days were far behind her now, because she was beginning her political climb and she wanted there to be truly nothing that could be considered incriminating found about her. She’d given Sansa one of those effortlessly charming winks, before saying that she might indulge in private after the election, but until then she didn’t have the time or inclination to spare.

In response, Margaery shook her head, _tsk_ ing for a moment, “Don’t be ridiculous, sweet girl, I’m not drunk,” she grinned, mischievously, “Though, I might have imbibed a bit; Loras and Renly were _awful_ influences after the debate.”

As Sansa opened her mouth to ask where they’d gone – because she was curious. Not that she didn’t think Margaery deserved to celebrate and she’d assumed that she was, but Margaery had been so staunchly against _imbibing_ , against being anything but her top-functioning ability at all times, that Sansa wondered if she should wonder if this was also something she should consider strange behavior… gods, she would make an awful detective –

And before she could say anything, Lady nudged against her cheek and then huffed out a breath before jumping gracefully off of Sansa’s bed and leaving the room through the cracked open door.

Margaery chuckled softly, “I apologize, is Lady against alcohol?”

Sansa rolled her eyes playfully back, “No, but she’s used to being asleep already.”

Because when she used to sleep in Sansa’s bed, before Sansa had moved for college, she would usually be asleep relatively early. And in the time since, all of the dogs who remained living here while had taken to sleeping in Rickon’s room. And, given that he was still in high school, their mother made sure his lights were out before midnight as well.

“Did I call too late?” Margaery asked as she stationed her phone on what Sansa thought was her bedside table.

“No, it’s okay,” she was quick to say, “I’m actually glad you called. I wanted to tell you how amazing you were tonight.”

The smile she got in response was almost dazzling in it’s sincere joy. It wasn’t a look Margaery wore _too_ often, and it was rather beautiful, “I’m glad you were watching. And I apologize for calling you before I went on stage,” a thoughtful frown pulled at her mouth as she stood from her bed, though left her phone where it was, and walked to her dresser, “I felt – less nervous than anxious, I suppose, and I wasn’t a fan.” Margaery sighed, sounding a bit far away – and not because of the bit of distance between them, either, “Before I even realized it, really, I was thinking that I’d like to hear your voice.”

She couldn’t quite discern her tone, certainly not through this FaceTime call when Margaery wasn’t even facing her, but… it made that small glimmer of hope burn brighter in her stomach. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Margaery confirmed, the short sound seeming pensive. In the way one’s voice got when they’d been drinking. Not quite enough to be drunk, but enough to be noticeable.

“Maybe because we haven’t spoken much lately,” she hedged, trying to keep her voice light, but also just wanting so much to _know_ if there had been anything behind it.

Margaery reached up to take off her earrings, and it was sort of mesmerizing in a way. With the camera on her phone directed toward her back, and with the back of her dress showing the way her shoulder blades moved with her now that the light, sleek-ish blazer she’d been wearing during the debate over it removed.

But her silence in the next few moments was not comforting at all, and Sansa bit her lip as Margaery turned back to face her. The look on her face was serious, and she tilted her head as she looked at Sansa.

“That’s probably it,” was all she said, though, before shaking back her hair and undoing it so that all of those luxurious curls fell down her back and shoulders. “I’ve gotten used to you being here, so it was a comfort to hear you before I went out there.”

It should be unfair, Sansa thought as her throat went a little dry with the way Margaery tossed her hair back, that she could look so fabulous doing _anything_. Instead, it just made her admire Margaery more. And kind of marvel at the fact that Margaery wanted her, too. Physically, at the very least, and in other ways in the potential future. Maybe.

“I’ve… gotten used to having you here, too,” she told her, thinking about all of the little stories she had, things that she had wanted to tell Margaery about in the last week.

And still, _that’s probably it_ and _I’ve gotten used to you being here_ repeated a bit in her head. Eyebrows coming together slowly, with not quite anger but mild annoyance mixed with bafflement settling inside, Sansa stared at Margaery.

For as much as she could tell certain things about this woman, more than most people could, like when she was nervous or drunk, sometimes Margaery was still a mystery to her. Like, if she’d wanted to talk to Sansa in the last few days, why hadn’t she called? Or even answer when Sansa had called her with more than perfunctory responses?

Even though she didn’t really want to bring it up and hadn’t planned on bringing it up, because she didn’t want to seem… clingy or anything like that. Or even if it was worth mentioning, given the fact that Margaery was her friend and nothing more, and she hadn’t acted out of turn really. But how could Margaery make it sound like she _missed_ her or something when she’d been the one to create some distance?

So, even though she knew it sounded very girlfriend-esque, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did I do anything wrong before I left?” Cursing herself, because that sounded so dumb, even to her own ears, she quickly added on, “Or, did I do something to upset you?”

Margaery gave her a puzzled look that seemed so genuine, that alone alleviated some of the weight that had been sitting on her shoulders, “Why would you say that?”

Okay, with Margaery giving her that concerned, confused look as she walked closer to her phone, Sansa maybe felt a little stupid.

And she shrugged, feeling herself flush and being grateful that the only light in her room was from her phone, “It’s just – you didn’t really seem in the mood to talk to me. Texts or calls or anything, even though we’ve basically talked almost every day ever since we became friends, so… I thought; well, I already told you what I thought.”

She decided not to mention the affectionate nicknames that she’d been missing, too.

Those big, brown eyes looked at her and even though they were miles away, in different regions, she swore she could _feel_ the concern in them. And maybe what she thought was regret, before Margaery shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment, as it gathering herself.

“You did nothing wrong, Sansa, you’re honestly – perfect,” Margaery told her, and she sounded so sincere and looked so serious that Sansa couldn’t not believe her. About her not being mad, not about being perfect.

Also because Margaery said the word _perfect_ with this sense of exasperation, which Sansa didn’t understand at all.

“The best friend I’ve ever had,” Margaery finished. She gave her a small smile, before shaking her head, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows, “There was simply something on my mind that I was dealing with, and I seem to have dealt with it in a manner that inadvertently hurt you. I promise, it’s not about yo –” Margaery bit off her sentence, inhaling sharply, before she amended, “I promise that it’s nothing you are going to have to know about.”

_That_ wasn’t as reassuring as Sansa would have liked, and she knew that her doubt was showing on her face – because she could see her face on her little camera box.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered, and sort of really hoped Margaery would.

But Margaery shook her head quickly, quicker than she thought she would if she was entirely sober, before saying, “I have it handled. It wasn’t as big of a deal as I was making it. Thanks, though.”

She was receiving that look Margaery gave her, that affectionate warm one, so she supposed maybe it really wasn’t that big of a deal after all. Besides, Margaery was one of the most capable people Sansa had ever met when it came to most things.

“All right, but if you _did_ need something, I’d be here to listen,” Sansa couldn’t help but add in.

Apparently to Margaery’s amusement, as she grinned slightly, her eyes dipping to the floor for a moment, before looking back up into the camera, back up at Sansa. “And that is why you truly are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

It was that comment that for some reason made her think about her own issue from earlier in the day; the thing with Arya, Rickon thinking that she had a girlfriend, Rickon apparently having texted Robb about her having a girlfriend, and her mother knowing that Margaery actually wasn’t her girlfriend but was more than her friend.

Biting the inside of her lip, she debated telling her. It wasn’t like she wanted Margaery to know that anyone in her family _knew_ about their… arrangement. Because obviously Arya knew about it, and Margaery hadn’t reacted that well to that news, having fled her apartment immediately afterwards and all.

And Sansa’s _mother_ knowing? That was a whole other thing. And she had Margaery here with her – in a manner of speaking – for the first time in basically a week. For the first time in a week, she felt like things were normal for them.

But, she felt this guilt lodged low inside her stomach at the thought of not telling her when she knew that it was probably something Margaery should know. Especially before Margaery walked into the party. Not that Sansa actually thought her mom would interrogate her or anything – or even be, like, overtly knowing or friendly.

It was common courtesy though, wasn’t it?

Even so, the invitation apparently wasn’t what had caused Margaery to act a little distant – which, _great_ , so Sansa’s entire debacle this afternoon was for nothing! But did it really even matter all that much, then?

Groaning quietly at herself, Sansa rubbed her hand over her forehead, for once wishing that her brain would just be quiet.

It obviously wasn’t great advice and her brain didn’t listen, and the words came out anyway, “Not to, um, add to your stress or anything, but just so you know… my mom, well, she sort of knows that we’re more than – that we’ve slept together.”

That they _sleep_ together. Regularly.

She twisted her blanket in her hand as she quickly added on, “Not that I think she’s going to say anything to you. Actually, she’s said that she won’t. But, she invited you to the party and I wanted you to… know,” she finished lamely.

But instead of the look she was worried she would be met with, not that she’d ever seen Margaery ever looked panicked or even thought she would, Margaery was just giving her a quietly patient stare. Her eyebrow lifted slightly, with a small smile on her lips.

“I figured,” was all she said, with an easy shrug. “It’s all right.”

And Sansa… she’d worked herself up over this earlier, nervous that this was something causing Margaery to be distant. But apparently, “You _figured_?” she asked, incredulous. “It’s okay?”

Did that mean – something? Did it mean that it was okay that them being more-than-friends was more of an openly known thing?

Margaery tilted her head, seeming a little amused, as she placed her phone back down on the bedside table, “Yes, I thought it was somewhat of an odd thing to get an invitation, especially given that you said you weren’t responsible for it. And, well, she’s your mother. It’s not like she’s going around discussing your sex life with people.”

Sansa couldn’t help but let out a short, disbelieving – at herself – laugh, as her head fell back onto her pillows. Her eyes closed slightly as she blew out a short breath. Of course Margaery had already put it together; who did Sansa think she was talking to? And of course Margaery had already pegged Cat as discreet.

Okay. Well, that solved that.

That really was a weight off of her shoulders, though. Because if it wasn’t the party, then Sansa could truly not name a reason for anything pertaining to her that might have caused Margaery to avoid her. She supposed it really was something that Margaery was just dealing with.

“You know,” Margaery began, and Sansa picked her head up from where she’d dropped it back against the couch, “I called earlier because I was thinking about you on my way back from celebrating with Renly and Loras at their favorite bar, and I wished you would be here.”

For a moment, Sansa’s heart warmed at the words because: Margaery wished she was there.

But when she registered the low tone Margaery was using, one that she recognized from when they’d had sex. It was low like when Margaery would say her name, when Margaery would tell her what to do to her. _Harder, faster, more, gods yes_ – that voice.

She couldn’t exactly see Margaery’s eyes clearly because she was standing a few feet away, but she knew the look on her face. She’d seen it before, several times at this point.

And she flushed, feeling the blush deep in her cheeks as her stomach clenched, “You – yeah?”

Gods, her throat was already dry and she had to clear it just to get that word out.

“I’m having this _energy_ right now,” Margaery informed her, her tone still a little low, a little breathless as she reached her hands up behind herself. “And I’ve been feeling it ever since I won the debate. Just – this rush of adrenaline. Excitement. Then we were at this little private club the boys have gone to, and the drinks and the dancing… mm, well, that only made me feel even more wanting.”

“Dancing, um, at a club?” Sansa’s mouth went dry as she heard Margaery pull down the zipper of her dress. Even though the thought of Margaery out dancing, dancing with other women in a club, didn’t sit evenly in her stomach. Not when she knew that was how Margaery had previously found the women she’d had her hookups with.

“It was one of my interests listed on the website on which we met, Sansa,” Margaery’s teasing tone had her gulping. Or maybe it was the was the way Margaery moved her arms and let her dress fall in one, sleek motion to the floor.

Gods. Sansa had had sex with Margaery more times than she could recall at this point. But with Margaery standing there on display, unreachable, wearing only a matching strapless bra and a tiny, lacy thong…

“Seven hells,” she breathed out, barely biting back a whimper, because Margaery didn’t even look like she was real. She looked – she looked like she was some sort of pinup, and Sansa squeezed her thighs together subconsciously, trying to get some friction.

Margaery’s hands slid up to rest on her own hips, and blue eyes were glued to the motion, even as Sansa’s own fingers twitched. Wishing _she_ could touch her hips, the ghost of the feeling of that warm, soft skin under her hands.

Margaery sighed, running one of her hands up her stomach and pausing at her throat, the other moving to hook her thumb into her panties, moving lightly against the skin of her hips. “I was there, dancing, and getting worked up, and I just kept thinking about how much I wanted to come home and have you make me come.”

“You did?” Sansa was still breathless, her hand grabbing in the comforter tightly, “You wanted me? Even… while you were out?”

Margaery’s chuckle was low and skirted over Sansa’s body in this way that shot right through her body. It shouldn’t be possible for a single sound to make her wet, but she could feel herself.

Her eyes were glued to her phone screen as Margaery reached behind her and fluidly undid her bra. Her nipples were already hard, and she slid her hand forward again, pinching at one.

Sansa knew by now just the way to suck and nip her teeth to feel Margaery’s back arch, and the whimper that would escape her throat. The way her hands would slide into Sansa’s hair and hold her there.

Margaery hummed low in the back of her throat, scratching her own hand lower, down over her stomach, “Gods, Sansa… even though you’re new to fucking women, you are such a fast learner. Delightfully fast, really.”

It was so heady. Margaery’s words adding to the aching between her legs, the fact that not only had Margaery been turned on for hours – but that she specifically wanted Sansa. Margaery could have anyone she wanted; she was sexy and knowing.

And she chose to come back home, to FaceTime Sansa…

Her head fell back again, this time with a groan, “You’re a really good teacher.”

“Oh yeah?” Margaery sauntered closer to where she had the camera resting on the bedside table.

Her breath caught in her throat, heat building in her stomach, moving down, her clit already starting to throb, with the sight of Margaery’s body right there. Right in front of her. She had a perfectly close view of those soft, firm breasts, and the light definition in Margaery’s stomach muscles as she leaned over to where Sansa couldn’t see.

She bit her lip, hard, her hand not holding her phone slipping under the blankets and pressing hard against her thigh, “Margaery, are… what are we doing?”

Finally, Margaery shifted back enough so Sansa could see her face again, close enough now that she could see her eyes. Dark, so dark, and the way her lips were wet from having sucked on them in the way she did when she was turned on.

“I thought it was obvious by now what we were doing. I want to come,” Margaery practically purred out, the sound skittering over Sansa, making her shiver, “And I want to see you while I do. I want us both to come, just like this.”

Sansa groaned quietly, uncontrollably, even as her eyes widened, “You – you want us to touch ourselves together? Watching each other?”

Margaery’s laugh was low and quiet as she settled back into her bed. Her phone was still on her bedside table, now facing her though as she laid against the pillows, and Sansa had a perfect view of her from the chest up.

Once again, Margaery’s hand slid up, coming into view and cupping her own breast before pinching and pulling her nipple. And once again, Sansa’s eyes were glued to the vision before her, and – gods, she could hardly contain the moan that wanted to leave her throat.

“What did you think I was getting at when I stripped in front of you, darling?” Margaery asked, before she sighed, switching to her other nipple, her second hand coming up to tangle into her hair.

Sansa’s mouth was ready to water at the want to be _there_. To suck and lick and bite Margaery’s chest and… “I, I wasn’t really thinking clearly,” she admitted.

“Tell me, do you want to do this?” Margaery implored, slowing her motions.

And Sansa found herself nodding even as she blushed slightly, “I’ve never done this before.” She knew for a fact she’d never, ever wanted someone the way she wanted Margaery. Would never have been this aroused, this wet, just from seeing someone else she’d slept with strip for her.

“Perfect,” came the slightly breathless response, and Margaery looked at her in the camera, “Now. Tell me,” she repeated, her voice rasping out.

Sansa’s hand was digging hard into her thigh, and her thighs were still pressed together, even though she couldn’t help but rock her hips slightly. “Tell you?”

“Touch yourself, beautiful girl, and _tell me_ ,” Margaery repeated.

Blue eyes flew open and she knew her cheeks were dark red in a second from her blush, “I can’t – I can’t do that.”

“You can’t touch yourself?” Margaery’s tone dropped low and Sansa gulped, and – gods – she could feel herself dripping already.

It had been too long without Margaery’s touch, and she’d gotten accustomed to it. Gotten used to the way Margaery could make her come so hard she couldn’t think, could barely breathe from the intensity.

“Uh, no, that’s not what I’m saying,” she swallowed hard, and felt almost dizzy with the intensity of Margaery’s stare, “I just – what… do you want me to tell you?”

Margaery shifted even closer, “I want you to touch your pussy and tell me how wet you are. Tell me what you want, what you wish I was doing to you. Gods, Sansa, I want you to just moan for me if that’s what you want to do.”

She – okay, she could do that. Slowly, she nodded, and bit her lip as she brought her hand up a bit to dip into the waist of her pajama shorts.

She shivered as she brushed against her own waist, her fingers pausing even as her breath came a little shorter. She was surprised at how much she actually wanted to do this – wanted to come for Margaery, with Margaery watching. But, it couldn’t leave the back of her mind… what if she was bad at this… video sex?

Margaery was watching, though, arousal heavy in her gaze, and she seemed to understand exactly what had Sansa pausing.

Luckily for both of them, Margaery had no such hesitations.

“On top of your panties at first, darling. Slide your hand down, and rub yourself,” Margaery instructed, her voice coaxing.

And Sansa shuddered hard, her hand sliding just as Margaery had said.

Gods… her mouth fell open as she pressed her fingers against her panties. She’d needed friction so badly, and she hadn’t even realized just how much. Just _how_ wet she’d gotten from watching the way Margaery had stripped for her. From hearing Margaery tell her what she wanted.

“I’m… I’m wet,” she whispered, pressing harder against herself, her hips rocking into her hand.

Margaery let out a quiet sound, and Sansa could see her hands still on her chest, tugging her nipples harder, “Yeah? You can feel how wet you are through your panties?”

Sansa nodded, biting her lip, but it didn’t stop the half moan that got caught in her throat, “I – yes. Ugh, I’m, my panties are wet. I can feel myself through them.”

She rocked down harder, rubbing at her clit through her panties and sending sparks through her body, exhaling on a groan when she saw the way her words made Margaery shiver.

“That’s… oh, that’s good darling. Go under your panties, then. Go under and tell me just how wet you are,” Margaery’s hands had stilled, but she was looking at Sansa so intensely, she thought she would explode from it.

And she followed Margaery’s words, sliding her hand into her panties and pressing right against herself. The gasp that left her with the contact right against her clit was uncontrollable, as was the automatic continued rolling of her hips.

“I’m – really wet. Um, oh…” she trailed off, sliding her fingers lower, her head falling back a bit as she rubbed over her entrance, her fingers easily slipping through her lips, coated from her wetness, “S-so wet.”

“Fuck. Keep touching, tell me what you’re doing,” Margaery told her, her voice more urgent than before. Needier.

Sansa liked it.

She slipped her hand up again slightly, whimpering in the back of her throat as she tried to talk, “I’m touching my clit. Uh… oh, gods, it’s hard. Thr-throbbing against my fingers,” she managed as her head fell back into her pillows completely, and she rubbed her clit faster, moving in easy circles.

Margaery moaned in response, “Just like when I wrap my lips around it.”

Sansa’s hips jumped into her hand hard at her words, “Yes,” she groaned out, “Just like that.”

Gods, the thought of Margaery’s mouth on her already had her clenching and she slipped lower, fingers slipping inside of herself.

“Uhh, t-two fingers inside,” she whispered, moving her hand faster, pushing in deep and feeling herself squeezing. Moving even harder, rubbing at her clit with her thumb and – she didn’t think she was going to be able to last much longer.

“I love fucking you just like that, darling. Pressing my fingers into you, feeling the way you squeeze around me, working yourself around my fingers. Seven hells, you feel so good,” Margaery’s voice seemed to float to her, sounding almost choked with how breathless she was.

And Sansa’s eyes were closed so tightly, her body drawing up even more tense as she moved into herself faster and faster, stroking her clit even as her body started to shake. “You feel better,” she got out on a low moan.

She was so close. So close to coming, she could feel her hips already jerking into her hand, her clit starting to pulse.

“Margaery – I’m close,” she breathed, her teeth clenching as the heat coiled tightly low in her stomach, fanning out slowly.

“I need to see you come, Sansa,” Margaery told her, whimpering, and it was all she could do to not drop her phone as her orgasm hit her with Margaery’s words.

The feeling hurtled through her, a strangled moan caught in her throat as she managed to open her eyes just enough to see the way Margaery was watching her. Gods, her body shuddered harder, heat sparking through her for long moments, as the blood rushed in her ears.

She was breathless when she came down from her orgasm moments later, the grasp on her phone so tight she thought it might hurt her hand later. And she thought she heard a muffled buzzing sound, but… maybe it was still the blood rushing in her ears.

She felt somewhat boneless, melting into her bed, as she brought her phone closer now. It took her a moment to see that Margaery’s eyes were no longer turned toward her, but instead her head was pressed hard into her pillow, and Sansa could see her neck straining.

Her mouth was open, breathless whimpers and groans escaping her as one her hands grabbed tightly at the headboard above her and the other –

The other was out of her view, but she could see her arm moving quickly and – holy hells, she was the sexiest thing Sansa had ever seen. So magnificent her throat felt too dry, even when she tried to swallow.

Margaery’s back arched a bit, a furrow in her brow as, “Sansa,” broke from her lips, and despite having just came hard, she felt herself shudder.

“You’re incredible,” escaped her in a murmur, and she wished viscerally to be able to _be_ there, to feel Margaery.

Margaery’s eyes fluttered open at that, brown eyes bleary and barely able to focus on her. And then Margaery’s back arched so hard, her chest was pushed up in the air, her head snapping back, and Sansa could see the way she shuddered so hard it wracked her entire body as she came.

With Sansa’s name on her lips.

She watched, entirely too enthralled to look away as Margaery came down from her peak. Her chest was heaving as her back fell into her pillows, and she had to blink a few times at Sansa before her eyes cleared.

The hand that had been out of her view range, came up, holding a –

Blue eyes widened, “Is that a vibrator?”

Margaery hummed in confirmation, before switching it off, and that buzzing Sansa had been hearing disappeared. She placed it on the table, a sleepy, yet incredibly satisfied smirk on her face, “If I don’t have you here to touch me, that’s the next best thing.”

Her mouth was dry, assaulted with images of Margaery using the vibrator on herself like she just had been. With images of using it _on_ Margaery.

“That’s… smart,” she managed to get out, still slumped into her own pillows.

Margaery sighed, languidly, as she stretched, “We should use it one of these times together,” she murmured as she pulled a blanket over herself.

“I – would like that,” she agreed, and… she hadn’t thought about it before, but now that she was, she very much wanted to.

Margaery let out a large yawn, “You know, sweetling, you’ve said before that you are inexperienced, but I’m finding that I love how much you want to try out with me.”

Sansa didn’t know why she was still blushing at that, not after Margaery had just touched herself while watching Sansa come on video chat, but, it was happening. Still, she gave a small, sheepish smile, “You make me feel more confident. More… sexy,” she confessed in a whisper.

Margaery’s yawn was contagious, though, and she reached out to balance her phone on her own bedside table so that she could cuddle back into her own blankets. Unlike earlier, she wasn’t having any issue for her eyes to feel sleepily heavy, this time.

Big brown eyes, despite clearly being exhausted, opened, “You’re incredible sexy,” and there was no teasing tone, no playfulness. Just – a serious informative tone and it made Sansa flush, even as a warmth spread in her chest.

“I like that you get me to try new things,” she told Margaery quietly in the dark, as they both settled into their beds.

“Mm, me too,” Margaery murmured, her eyes closing, “Coming with you, celebrating winning my debate. I count tonight as a win.”

“I agree,” Sansa watched her for another long moment, eyes taking in the soft vulnerability Margaery seemed to only have when she was sleeping. Or, apparently, getting ready to sleep.

She had no energy to reach out and end the call, and she certainly wasn’t going to if Margaery wasn’t going to.

So she settled into her blankets, letting her eyes close while her mind drifted, and felt completely relaxed for the first time in days.

She was half-asleep when she thought she heard a soft, “I still wish you were here.”

But she wasn’t sure if she dreamt it or not.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts, feelings, opinions :) Honestly, it makes my entire day to see your responses, and the responses to this story amaze me every single time I post a new chapter. Thank you so much! And thank you for reading!


	18. Nobody Said It Was Easy

The north was much prettier than Margaery had expected. Not that she was completely ignorant on the matter; she’d seen pictures and she’d been up to White Harbor on a very brief visit with her family, years ago.

But even the personal pictures she’d seen in Sansa and Jeyne’s apartment – which were nice – didn’t do it justice. The sun had just begun to set by the time she and Loras had started to journey from their hotel up to the Stark family home, and the way it had reflected off of all of the freshly fallen white snow was breathtaking.

The drive had been just beautiful enough to distract her from the unsettled feeling in her stomach. Not that she would refer to it as _nerves_ exactly – not that she wanted to, anyway.

But she’d felt like this, subtly, for a little while now.

Since the last time she’d seen Sansa. Since she’d been hit with the realization that under her affection and endearment and attraction for the woman was also genuine _feelings_. Romantic feelings that made Margaery want to do… things.

Like buy earrings because they perfectly matched Sansa’s eyes and call her before she went to bed just to hear her voice and when she had women hitting on her in the club, she didn’t even feel entirely right dancing with them because she’d wanted to be dancing with Sansa.

Feelings that were unplanned, unprecedented, and unfamiliar, and she’d done her best to process them the week after Sansa had left by maintaining her distance and focusing as much as she could on her debate.

But after their sex-via-FaceTime last week, it had been difficult to keep that distance. She no longer had an excuse with the debate, and – well, she’d woken up the morning after with Sansa still on FaceTime, sleeping softly, and Margaery… gods, she couldn’t forget that feeling. Waking up and, even not in person, seeing Sansa’s softly sleeping face first thing had just made all of those shaken up feelings sort of settle inside of her.

Margaery had never in her _life_ wanted to have someone in her bed with her when she woke up. She’d never craved another woman’s presence like that; she’d always been far more than satisfied with just a few hours of fun and then going to sleep by herself, waking up by herself.

She not only didn’t mind her privacy and independence but she actively enjoyed it. But that morning, those feelings she’d tried to push to the back of her mind and ignore made her know that she couldn’t ignore them anymore. Because she’d wished Sansa was in bed with her. That she could ignore her alarm and feel a little sleepy and burrow into Sansa’s neck and breathe her in and just rest.

Which would be even more terrifying, if she hadn’t already decided what to do about any potential _feelings_.

She decided, the day of her debate – as the feeling of victory and like she’d taken one giant step closer to her goal – that the feelings really didn’t have to matter. The feelings didn’t matter. They didn’t matter, they couldn’t matter, and they wouldn’t matter.

It was only what she _did_ in regards to them that mattered.

If she never changed her actions toward Sansa, there would be no need to take a closer examination at anything she didn’t want to examine any farther. As simple as that.

So, since that day last week, she’d felt like her normal self. Which was her mantra as she was going into the Stark party tonight, and what she’d reminded herself about on the flight there as well as when she’d been at the hotel.

Her communication with Sansa since that night had been normal. And when she saw her tonight for the first time in person since that fateful night, she would be completely her normal self again. It wouldn’t be that difficult, she assured herself. Sure, romantic feelings were new for her. But they didn’t need to do anything, to change anything in her life. She wouldn’t let them.

She was still herself. Sansa was still Sansa. Their arrangement was the same one they’d always had – simple as that.

Only, she thought as she and Loras stood outside of the large home that seemed like a fairytale situated in a winter wonderland, it didn’t _feel_ simple right now.

The last week had been all right. Good, even. She’d talked to Sansa normally, and found that it hadn’t been that difficult. Found that the way Sansa made her smile and the way her heart would somethings beat faster weren’t new at all; she just hadn’t paid much attention to them before.

So, she could do it again. She had dealt with _that_.

That, however, wasn’t even what had her stomach in these knots that she was unaccustomed to, as she and Loras approached the Stark home.

“It’s actually perfect foresight, for them to have arranged cars to and from all of the guests’ hotels,” Loras commented, tugging at the collar of his jacket so it was closer to his ears, “Then again, I imagine they’d have to, unless they wanted all their drunk guests spending the night.”

Margaery only hmm’d in agreement, even though she _did_ agree that it was perfect foresight. The Starks apparently made arrangements every year with a chauffeur service to and from the establishments where their party guests would be staying; Sansa had told her about it on the phone the other day to prepare a car for her and Loras.

During the talk they’d had the day after Christmas, where she’d called Margaery after breakfast, and they’d ended up talking for over an hour.

Margaery shook her head slightly to clear it, feeling her hair bounce at her shoulders over her heavy jacket, as she mentally prepared her checklist. Tonight was going to be a night where she would hopefully make connections that would not only help her in this election, but also in her future life plans.

She’d been attending events that were more formal than this for years, even before she was officially involved in politics. She had very little doubts about her ability to schmooze and charm the best of them.

She’d even polished up her knowledge about the politicians and businesspeople who had typically been invited to the Stark party in the past, just to be sure to be on her toes.

There was no reason she should be feeling anything less than her usual partygoing best. After all, events with important people were to be an important aspect of her future.

No real reason, and yet here she was with an irritating feeling lodged low in her stomach. Not a feeling of actual irritation, no. But one she would almost categorize as _anxiety_.

Unfamiliar and unwanted, and she took a deep breath and huffed it out, as if she could expel this feeling, too.

“You okay, there?” her brother asked, as they drew closer to the home.

“I’m doing well, Loras,” she responded, quirking her eyebrow at him and daring him to challenge it. Which, perhaps wasn’t the best move, as he’d liked to challenge her a bit in the last few days.  

The amusement written all over his face was enough to quell her nerves and temper them down with irritation even before he asked, “Not nervous about –”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, eyes narrowed dangerously before she glanced around to ensure that none of the other arriving guests – though it seemed they’d beat any crowds – were in close enough proximity to them.

“Don’t?” Loras asked, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as her muttered, “Seven hells, it’s freezing here,” and blowing out a deep breath, “Don’t discuss your burgeoning feelings for –”

She grit her teeth so hard it nearly hurt, “I deeply, deeply regret getting drinks with you after my debate.”

And she meant it. Because if it hadn’t been for those drinks, she never would have ended up telling her brother and Renly about these Sansa-feelings.

It hadn’t felt like only a week since that night, because Loras had gleefully taken to bringing up her _feelings_ whenever the opportunity arose, despite the fact that she’d repeatedly asked him not to. And then told him not to. Because the situation was already on her mind enough.

Glancing around again, she reached her hand out to land on his arm, pulling him to a stop far back in the immaculately shoveled and prettily-lit walkway that there was enough space to pull him off to the side.

After casting a final glance around, she narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice, “I allowed you to be my plus one tonight because you wanted to see what the “elite” Stark New Year’s Eve party was like –”

“And to be your wingman,” Loras cut in, looking indignant.

And Margaery set her jaw in annoyance at her older brother, “Yes, as in, I don’t want Sansa’s family to think I’m here as anything other than a friend, and bringing my brother makes me seem far less like I’ve debauched their daughter,” she hissed.

Which was true. Because she had no problem going to events alone; in fact, sometimes she even preferred it. But bringing her brother along as a buffer in this specific scenario had seemed like a good idea.

But right now? Standing outside of Sansa’s childhood home? The home in which Sansa’s family resided still, a family that knew of her… circumstances with Sansa. Or, at the very least, her mother and sister knew.

_That_ was what was giving Margaery this unpleasant feeling in her stomach that had been mounting the entire drive, and her brother’s commentary was certainly not helping. She was so used to knowing what to do, what to say; having every step planned. But she couldn’t necessarily plan for this.

For the sake of the Seven, she was “meeting the family” for a woman that she wasn’t even technically dating! It shouldn’t be nerve-inducing.

It shouldn’t be, but it was. Because Margaery didn’t _do_ meeting the family, for any woman in the past that she’d had a physical relationship with. Hells, Margaery didn’t even have many friends, let alone ones she was close enough with to meet their families, even. And not only was she sleeping with Sansa, but she had these damning feelings, which made this feel even more important.

Not even to mention the fact that Sansa was a Stark, and the Stark family weren’t just – people. They were in her world; what they thought of her could impact her life. Plus, well… Sansa loved her family so much, which made Margaery feel like – like she wanted them to like her for that reason, too.

That thought alone was chilling.

“Debauched their daughter?” Loras repeated, bringing her back to the moment, with laughter in his voice, “You have feelings for the woman! That’s –”

Margaery rolled her eyes, even as her stomach like a stone was sinking in it, and she quickly held up her hand to stop him from continuing, “If I have to tell you to cut it out with the comments one more time, you aren’t even going to come to the party, you’re going to spend the night outside freezing all of your extremities off.”

And she meant it.

He gave her an exasperated look, “I don’t know why I’m more excited about you _finally_ having feelings for someone than you are.”

“Really, Loras?” it almost hurt, how hard she bit at the inside of her cheek. But it was necessary given this entire situation and how easily these feelings of frustration took hold inside of her. “You know what our relationship is. Friends,” she stressed.

Sometimes, despite how close Loras was to her, his complete lack of knowledge about where she was coming was both baffling and frustrating.

And at times like now, where she was already stressed about so many other aspects of her life that having these feelings added just served to try to complicate everything more, it was especially off-putting.

He rolled his eyes, “Uh, yeah, really, Margaery.”

Her frustration mounted, bubbling inside of her like it had been all week but she’d been biting her tongue. Because she could handle a comment here or there; if Margaery couldn’t take a well-intentioned, if teasing, comment from a family member, she was most certainly in the wrong career.

But tonight felt… different.

And it was enough for words that had been wanting to snap out of her actually come to the surface and she narrowed her eyes at him in impatience, “You’re acting like this is a good thing. Like my having romantic feelings is going to lead to anything but a more difficult situation if I let these feelings actually go anywhere beyond what I’m doing now.”

Loras, clearly irritated with her right back, scoffed, “And _you’re_ acting like your life is over because you’re having these feelings –”

She pursed her lips so hard as he spoke, feeling how tense her shoulders were, until she couldn’t stop herself from interrupting him because, “Do you really not know anything?”

Her hands balled into fists, so she could control herself from running them through her hair or pushed at her brother’s chest like she had when they would fight when they were younger.

“You think that’s what all this is about? Are you kidding me?” it was rare that her temper flared like this – and that she allowed it to – but she couldn’t stop it. Not when she needed to cut off any sort of tailspin before it could really gain any more speed. “I’m not in denial of my sexuality, I’m not hiding who I am to myself or my family. But it makes my entire _life_ so complicated. It puts everything I’ve ever wanted at utter risk for ruin.”

The truth of the words hung heavily in the air between them, and it was really the first time she had said it aloud. It wasn’t like she didn’t know that it was the truth – it wasn’t like this hadn’t been something she’d thought long and hard about in the past.

But the fact that it could be a reality now, with Sansa, _scared_ her.

She didn’t deal well with fear; she never had.

“The risk…” Loras trailed off with a scoff, and it only served to infuriate her more.

And the words poured out of her mouth, “I’ve spent my entire life wanting to be Prime Minister. Planning on it, planning every single step I’ve ever taken.” Gods, she felt like her throat was on fire with the heat of the anger and the honest truth inside of her as her eyes narrowed into a glare, “Like you don’t know that I’ve spent every break from school since I was fifteen doing internships, sacrificing friendships and relationships and time I could have spent doing anything else.”

She had to clear her throat to keep going, though, because the words felt like they were scraping the back of her mouth, as her spine straightened and tensed so tight she could feel the ache in her shoulders, “Like you don’t know that I worked at the Red Keep through college, that I’ve worked late nights and weekends for _years_ , because I refuse to not do everything I possibly can to get where I want to be.”

“Margaery –” Loras cut in, his voice quieter than it was before, softer, but it didn’t slow her down. Not when there was still more she needed to get out.

More that he needed to understand. And maybe that she needed to just _say_.

“I’m the youngest woman to ever have my job, and not just in my department, but in every department in the Keep,” the fire was still there, crawling through her, even as her words were hushed.

That fact was a point of pride for her, it had been a point of pride since it had happened.

 “I know,” his voice softened even more, eyes that were so similar to hers bearing into hers. And so often, she felt connected to Loras, more than her other brothers, but right now she felt such a disconnect.

Because if he really _knew_ , then he wouldn’t be so obtuse.

She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes with hers, determined, as she took in a deep, stabilizing breath, “If I win this election, I will be the youngest person to _ever_ to be on the Small Council.”

Gods, she so very much wished she could say when she won. When she won, because she couldn’t let anything endanger this. She wouldn’t.

“I know,” he sighed, even as she could see his jaw working, clenching his teeth.

“And if I intend to be Prime Minister, let alone to be only the second woman and the youngest at that, do you think I will be able to do that while being openly gay?” she challenged, arching her eyebrow and absolutely refusing to let any of the feelings she had about the matter show. Because her feelings about it didn’t matter; couldn’t matter. “Or do you know, just as I do, that my entire future would be in jeopardy?”

And that was a truth she’d had to deal with, had long accepted, and cultivated her life around since she was a teenager.

“I know!” Loras’s voice was strong and sure and very nearly snapping in anger, “You think _I,_ of all people in your life, don’t understand what it’s like?”

“Then act like it,” she threw back, refusing to shout, though. Refusing to lose that composure; especially here and now, even when she could feel her body nearly vibrating from it. “Because this isn’t just about me and my feelings. This is about my entire future, my _life_.”

Everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever dreamed about. Her goals and her dreams that she’d done everything in her power to see to it could become attainable. And the thing was, she could attain it.

So, perhaps her life goals did mean she had to make some sacrifices along the way. But she’d refused to ever let anything come in the way of her dreams. It was _her_ choice to make – and she’d long since made it. What were relationships and feelings when there was so much more out there to do?

She held her brother’s gaze for a few moments, feeling the tension slowly leave just a bit at her shoulders. Because saying it all out loud, while uncomfortable and unfamiliar, made her feel somewhat calmer.

This was her life.

The wind blew around her, and she realized in that moment, that she hadn’t even felt the chill during the last few minutes.

Loras was quiet, before he slowly nodded, lifting his eyebrows in that way he had when he _wanted_ to say so much more, wanted to disagree, “Yeah. You’re right. It’s your life, your choices, and… I’m sorry.”

And while she was typically up for a good debate, she certainly wasn’t up for that on this topic, where there really was no debate to be had.

And especially not out here, twenty feet from the Stark home just before their elite New Year’s Eve party.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and meant it. And because it was only her brother, she allowed her shoulders to slump a bit as they burrowed into her jacket and some of the tension slipped out of her. Only for a moment, though, before she quirked an eyebrow at him, “And that means no more choice commentary.”

He rolled his eyes, but playfully, and bowed his head in secession, “As you command.”

It was only then, after some of that adrenaline wore off, that she could feel herself shivering again, and she could see her brother doing the same. As if easily jumping back onto the same page on her, at least about this topic, he tilted his head, “Ready to face the wolf’s den?”

The small smile on his lips got her to smile back, if only a little bit, “I’ll lead the way.”

Truthfully, she still felt less ready than she did at grander events like charity galas and state dinners. Focus on the politics, she reminded herself, squaring her shoulders, and started mentally running through names and facts and policies as they approached the front door.

_Do not focus on the fact that Catelyn Stark knows about your sexuality. And that you’ve slept with her daughter._

It was a task easier said than done. Sansa had assured her that her mother didn’t care, and that she wouldn’t say anything to anyone.

And as much as Margaery wanted that discretion and worried about it, she did believe that. So, really, there was no legitimate reason to feel these unfamiliar nerves. It was just Sansa’s mother, just her family. Just her friend’s family, some of whom she’d already met.

She rolled her shoulders and only let herself hesitate for a moment before she rang the doorbell.

Then caught her brother’s eye as he was giving her a curious look. A curious, grinning look, that made her instantly on her guard, “What?”

“Just – a little nervous, are we?” he bumped her shoulder with his.

She could feel the slight impact even through both of their winter jackets – which, Margaery wished they didn’t need, but they _did_. Sansa had been right about not truly knowing what the cold was in King’s Landing.

Still, she kept her face impassive, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m going to keep tonight as professional as possible. And you and I both know I don’t have nerves when it comes to that.”

“Oh, right,” he scoffed back. But even as she narrowed her eyes in annoyance – did she have to bring up their previous conversation _already_? – he ran his thumb and index finger over his lips, “I’m not saying anything, though.”

“Good,” she murmured back, taking a deep breath and pushing her shoulders back.

Tonight would be fine; it would be more than fine, she assured herself. Because Margaery didn’t set her sights on being _fine_. She was the first entirely new invitee to this party in years, and the first politician from south of the Riverlands, ever.

Her grandmother was entirely right. Regardless of the reason she’d been invited, tonight was something she intended on taking advantage of. She would, of course, be polite and personable with the Stark family – not that she wouldn’t be, anyway. But they were the family of her best friend.

She wanted them to like her on that aspect alone.

But, she told herself as they waited for the door to be answered, what were the odds that she’d even be spending much time with the Starks, anyway? This party was going to be filled with –

Her thoughts cut themselves off as the door opened, and Margaery had expected for someone working this event or perhaps a maid to answer the door, much as one would at her own parents’ home. The Stark family home wasn’t ostentatious, but it was fairly, well, massive.

Not as ornate as Margaery’s parents, but well close to it. She knew she shouldn’t really be surprised; the Starks had been in power and had significant status for generations. But she supposed it might be in the way Sansa herself was in that unassuming manner.

Blanketed in snow, picturesque, the Stark home was grand. But was, apparently, not operating under hired help, because smiling down at her was Catelyn Stark herself.

These damning and uncomfortable nerves in her stomach came back to life, even as she purposefully slid on a small smile, “Mrs. Stark, it’s lovely to meet you in person. I’m –”

“Margaery Tyrell, of course. We met through that Skype call, a while ago,” Cat acknowledged with a small smile and a nod, “It’s nice to see you in person as well.”

She was wearing a sleekly elegant blue dress, her hair half pulled up into braids, somehow looking both imposing and gentle. And there was that smile on her mouth but there was no mistaking the smart, measuring look in her eyes.

Eyes that were startlingly blue and reminded her very much of Sansa, and the thought did nothing to quell these damning nerves. Especially because in spite of the graciousness in her expression, Margaery had no doubt that Catelyn Stark was trying to get a read on her.

There was a reason she’d invited her here tonight, after all.

She didn’t let her shoulders tense, though, and instead smiled a little wider, “Of course, I remember. Difficult to forget someone whose work I admire so much.” And at the very least, there was no pretense in that statement; it wasn’t sucking up or schmoozing, she told herself, when it was just the truth.

Knowing that made the smile she knew was one many found charming tug easily at her lips.

The older woman’s smile seemed to warm – just a bit, just enough to be noticeable – and it was a relief, “Sansa mentioned that she gave you the pre-release of my latest novel. Have you gotten a chance to read it?”

“Actually, I brought it with me to read on the flight home; I was so busy with preparing for the debate and then spending the holidays with my family that I couldn’t give it the attention it deserved,” she told her, bowing her head slightly regretfully.

And _those_ words were… semi-true. She had been busy, but she’d had downtime when she’d gone back to Highgarden for a few days for Christmas. And she had brought the book with her, because she was thrilled to read it.

But every time she’d contemplated reading it, she’d been able to picture that adorable, nervous yet excited look Sansa had worn when she’d gifted Margaery the book. And then those thoughts quickly had tumbled into Sansa kissing her goodbye, unbidden during that very platonic gift exchange, and then – of course – came the thoughts about these feelings, and…

It had been easier to occupy her mind with other things, despite how much she wanted to read it.

Cat waved her hand, “Whenever you get the chance; I hope you’ll enjoy it. Sansa, actually, did have a hand in creating some parts.”

Her tone was so casual as she mentioned Sansa, that Margaery decided she wasn’t the only one here who was well versed in veiled social interaction.

It made her admire Catelyn Stark more.

And she couldn’t help herself from speaking the words that came right to her mind, “Right, yes, she told me about the origin of Alayne Stone.”

“She did?” Catelyn arched an eyebrow at her, “Sansa very rarely discusses her accomplishments; I’m usually the one talking her up when it comes to her work with me.”

Margaery felt a sincere far more smile tug at her mouth, no longer feeling that anxiety, “Oh, I understand that; she’s very reluctant to discussing her accomplishments,” she thought of the flush Sansa took on so specifically when discussing when she’d told Margaery about her writing with her mother, and even her successes when it came to her studies, “But she’s remarkable. She told me the entire story of the creation of Alayne last month, and I was riveted.”

It was only after a few seconds ticked by in which Catelyn nodded slowly – thoughtfully – that Margaery replayed what she’d just said and could even _hear_ how her tone had sounded. Warm and reverent, in a way that it hadn’t been in the previous minutes.

And it took all of her self-control not to take a moment to close her eyes and curse herself, thankful that at the very least she knew she wasn’t blushing. Margaery did _not_ blush.

“Not to be rude, Mrs. Stark, but is there anything I could offer you that might prompt an invitation inside? I’m afraid neither my sister nor myself am used to this frigid weather,” Loras interjected, his voice cheerful, and the calculating gaze that had been on her instead flickered to her brother.

She had never been so thankful for him.

Cat quickly opened the door wider, stepping back, “Of course, that was extremely rude of me. Come in; I’m not northern born and raised, either. Despite having lived here for several decades now, I’m afraid the cold can still affect me more than it does my husband or children.”

She turned to face away from them for a moment as she and Loras moved to enter and she caught her brother’s teasing expression as he mouthed, “ _Professional_ ,” at her with a wink.

Her eyes narrowed, but she only allowed it for a moment, before she schooled her features again and took a deep breath before entering the Stark home.

The entry hall had a high ceiling and it was almost as if being enveloped in warmth not just by the actual warmth in temperature but just by the way the house felt as they stepped inside.

“I can take your jackets,” Catelyn offered as she turned back around.

Margaery was already unzipping hers, even as she looked around, out of the doorway and down the wide, longer hallway; as much as she could see, anyway. There was music in the distance and she could see that the walls were lined with what she presumed to be pictures and paintings, before she tracked her gaze back to the woman in question, “Your home is very lovely, Mrs. Stark.”

“Thank you; it’s always a pleasure to host friends of the family this time of year,” the redhead responded, and Margaery wondered if she was being paranoid or if there was actually a different tone when she said _friends of the family_.

Seven hells, this evening seemed to already be getting to her.

Still, she kept the fixed smile on her face, “Oh, well the Stark New Year’s party is renowned. I’m glad to have been invited.”

“Any friend of Sansa’s is always welcome,” was the response she got, with a smile of measured warmth, as Catelyn seamlessly took their jackets, “How was it that you met Sansa, again? Given your career, I take it that you’re a few years older than she is.”

The question was polite; amiable, even, and said without any sort of undertone. Still, Margaery could so easily picture how they actually had met. Could so easily recall the night she’d opened the dating app, intending to delete it, and stumbling across Sansa’s message. Or, she supposed, Jeyne’s message, proposing to hook up.

She could recall easily how very interested she’d been. Which was uncomfortable as she stood in front of the mother of said young woman she’d been attracted to. Because this woman, who held influential power in several ways, also knew Margaery had _acted_ on those feelings for her daughter.

And Margaery wasn’t even dating Sansa.

Sweet Gods, how did people who partook in relationships manage this time after time? Then again, she didn’t think she’d feel this anxiety if she was anyone else who didn’t have her career or her ambitions.

In spite of her whirling thoughts, she held Catelyn’s gaze steadily, even if she felt as though the woman could see through her as she answered, “Oh, we ran into one another one day in the coffee shop that Jeyne works in, and hit it off.”

The words rolled off her tongue easily, thankfully, and it was no trouble to remember the fabrication she’d told upon meeting Ned Stark.

At least she still had her wits about her, and that was a somewhat calming thought. Still, she hoped to the gods Catelyn wasn’t going to continue down this line of questioning. Even though, she _had_ prepared herself for it, just as she’d prepared for the politicians. It could never hurt to be prepared.

But the older woman accepted her answer with a nod and a smile, “I’ve been there on my visits to see the girls in King’s Landing; it’s charming. And Sansa does love the pastries they sell,” she shook her head a bit, that warm smile still on her face.

“Especially the lemon cakes,” she agreed with a nod, as she brushed her hands along the sleek suit jacket she wore. It was a dark blue, smooth and fitted, and she’d had the designer label sitting in her closet waiting for a perfect night.

She wanted to be professional, but young. Dazzle but understated. And this night seemed perfect.

What she hadn’t accounted for quite readily was the appraising look that entered those astute blue eyes. Eyes that were both the same shade as ones she’d spent months knowing at this point, but so very, very different.

What exactly had she said?

“Our Sansa does love a lemon cake,” was all Catelyn said, before she turned her attention to Loras, “And Mr. Tyrell, what is it that you do? In the political world, like your sister and grandmother?”

Margaery was incredibly relieved that no eyes were on her when she realized that she’d said _our Sansa_. Their Sansa? Theirs? Alarm bells rang in her head even as that unsettling feeling – both uncomfortable and warm – sat in her stomach.

And her brother merely bumped his shoulder with hers as he laughed, “Me and politics? Never, Mrs. Stark; I don’t have the stomach for it, unlike my family and my boyfriend. I’m a police officer.”

All right, so maybe she and Loras _were_ cut from the same cloth, and perhaps she did notice and enjoy his casual boyfriend-drop. And Catelyn Stark didn’t even bat an eye, aside from a light scoff, “You and I have that in common. Not the profession, of course, but –” she waves her hand slightly, “Politics.”

Even though from all she’d learned from Sansa and from what she’d heard, Catelyn was no slouch in the political arena.

“I apologize for having to cut this a little short, but I should get your jackets to the coat room and check in with the caterers before the party truly starts to get underway,” she turned and tilted her head to motion for Margaery and Loras to follow her a bit down the hall, “The main rooms for the party are just down at the end of the hall. Not many have arrived yet, but my kids are there already.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stark,” Margaery fixed on her smile, though she was still hearing _our Sansa_ in the back of her mind.

She received a nod in response, “Of course; enjoy your night. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, she swept down another hallway, adjusting the coats over her arm, and for a moment, both Margaery and Loras watched her go. Before her brother turned to her, “So… not that I’m going to bring up that which we are not to be discussing, but is it just me or did she sound a bit ominous with that _I’ll see you later_ bit at the end there?”

She rolled her eyes, despite the fact that she’d wondered if she’d imagined that tone because she was overthinking everything, “Shut it.”

But still, she blew out an even breath. That hadn’t been so bad, and Catelyn was the one she’d been worried about. Though, she definitely wasn’t sure she wanted to know what she would be like not on her “best behavior” as Sansa had promised.

After a short walk, they found themselves in an immaculately decorated grand room, and wow. Margaery supposed rooms like these – spacious, with tall, ornate ceilings and arching doorways – would be common in homes like the semi-famed Stark home. Which had been well modernized and renovated handfuls of times over the years, but much of it existed from when the original structure had been built several centuries ago.

Catelyn had been correct in that there were very few other guests thus far, and the ones that had arrived, she didn’t recognize. Family friends, she presumed, quickly running through the information she’d compiled.

“Margaery! You’re here,” Sansa’s voice came from behind her, sounding a little breathless, and it sent a shiver down Margaery’s spine.

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t heard Sansa’s voice several times in the last few weeks; they’d spoken on the phone more than once. But it wasn’t the same, that annoying voice in her head chirped. Hearing her so recognizable voice, and the way it made the skin on the back of Margaery’s neck move into goosebumps.

It wasn’t the same, she thought again as she turned around, her throat going dry at the sight of Sansa. The sky-blue dress she wore that clung to her, sleek, long-sleeved, and cutting off at mid-thigh was… gods, it made Margaery feel absolutely parched. Like she’d been hit in the stomach, especially with the waterfall of long, sleek red hair pulled over one shoulder in the sharp contrast.

She’d seen Sansa in all states of dress – and undress – by now. She’d even seen her on FaceTime after her little feelings-realization.

But she wasn’t prepared for this feeling that hit her in the chest, and was melting through her veins, until it landed heavily in her stomach. Just like it had felt the last time she’d seen her, sitting in her living room. Was this normal when having feelings for someone?

She’d been sort of hoping that it had been somewhat of a fluke. That the feeling had hit her so hard at the time because she’d been under the weather and that it had been the first time she’d confronted these feelings.

But, now, she knew at this moment, it hadn’t been a one-time thing.

Still, despite the fact that her breath left her too quickly, she merely straightened her shoulders and the smile that bloomed on her face was uncontrollable. Unease with these feelings or not, “Always early. Hello, darling.”

And, all right, she had missed the way it was so damn easy to make Sansa flush. The thrill it gave her was familiar, and comforting.

But despite the flush on her cheeks, and the smile tugging faintly at her lips, Sansa looked almost – fidgety. Which wasn’t something Margaery had expected, not while they were here, in her family home.

Her cheeks only deepened in color as she eyed Margaery up and down, and the way her eyes darkened sent a thrill through her, as Sansa cleared her throat, “I – you look – um,” she coughed lightly, before casting her eyes back to meet Margaery’s amused ones, “Nice. You look nice.”

They both pretended not to hear Loras disguise a laugh into a cough, and she resolved to elbow him sharply for it, later.

Drawing her back up straight, as if drawing up her composure, Sansa’s hands tangled in front of her as she aimed a quick smile at Loras, looking almost relieved to have a moment to gather herself, “You look very handsome tonight.”

It shouldn’t give her such a rush of satisfaction, she tried to chastise herself. But it didn’t work in the least.

Her brother gave an easy grin back, “I do love a nice suit.”

Sansa smiled at that, genuine warmth in her eyes, before she turned back to Margaery, “I, um, well, I was just clearing up some last-minute stuff with the caterer when my mom told me you were here. Can I talk to you? In private?” she bit her lip before she added, “It’ll be quick, I promise, you won’t miss the party.”

Confused – and disliking that almost as much as the anxiety she was reading on Sansa – she nodded, “Of course.”

The corner of Sansa’s mouth ticked up in a quick smile, “Come on.”

In a move Margaery hadn’t been expecting, Sansa reached out to take her hand, and she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this feeling. The softness of Sansa’s hand on hers, and she took a moment to enjoy it.

She was led out of the room she’d entered, through a side door and down a hallway, lined with family photos. Not that she had much time to really look at them, but she took in everything she could, before Sansa turned another corner and she found herself in a small alcove, with a window seat perch.

And she took it in slowly, wondering – was Sansa going to kiss her again, like the last time, despite the fact that this was not a “benefits” night, but a friends night? Did Margaery want her to?

Damningly, she did, which made her stomach clench.

But, with a deep breath – carefully silent, so that Sansa wouldn’t hear – she shook her head slightly. Because that was not going to happen; the lines between them needed to remain as they were.

Lifting her eyebrow, she finally turned to face Sansa, “I missed you, too, but I’m not sure this seat affords for much comfort or privacy,” she teased.

Because it was so easy to do with Sansa. Tease, even though she could so easily see her words play out in her mind. Still, it was normal for them – for her to tease and for Sansa to blush – and normal between them was what she very much wanted.

Sansa _did_ blush, charmingly, and delighted golden brown eyes took it in. Normal.

The deep breath that Sansa had taken in, seemed to catch in her throat before she got one of those contemplative looks of hers, “You did?”

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and while there had been many times Sansa had thrown her for a loop, she wasn’t usually as lost as she was now. She shook her head, curls bouncing over her back, “I’m sorry, I need you to elaborate a bit.”

Those vivid blue eyes somehow seemed even deeper with the blush turning Sansa’s cheeks a deep pink as she ducked her head, “You missed me?”

It took that moment, with Sansa looking at her with those wide, imploring, bright eyes for this feeling inside – everything, with her feelings and meeting Sansa’s family tonight and what this night could do for her career and this election – to come to a slower calm.

Sansa, in her dress and this vulnerability she wore so openly, her hand still clasping warm and soft around Margaery’s, made this tension she’d been feeling for weeks fade.

Because while these feelings were unfamiliar to deal with, this was Sansa. Sweet, smart, beautiful Sansa, who never put expectations on Margaery. Sansa who was always there, and always thoughtful, and so different from anyone else in Margaery’s life and, “I did,” the words left her quietly, surprising even herself, and she knew her eyes were wide when Sansa’s searched them.

_Way to act casual_ , she cursed herself, but it was also difficult to actually feel badly about it when Sansa was smiling like that. That shy smile, that was also relieved.

Nothing was inherently wrong with that, anyway. Nothing was inherently wrong with telling a friend you missed her, even if she had just dragged you off to a secluded area and left you wondering if you were going to be greeted by being kissed breathless. Which would be a bad thing, no matter how much you may want it.

The sweet smile on Sansa’s lips remained, “I missed you, too.”

The words landed in Margaery’s stomach with dual punches – good in the obvious way, and bad in that… she knew they were talking such a fine line.

And she was relieved when Sansa took a deep breath once more, the look on her face becoming more serious as she squeezed the hand that was still clasping Margaery’s, before she let it go, “But, no I didn’t bring you here for – _that_. I wanted to check… first, my mom didn’t say anything to you about, well, anything she shouldn’t have, right?”

She thought of the measuring eyes, and the comments that shouldn’t have had the intensity that they did. Of the unfamiliar nerves she’d felt. But she shook her head, “No, your mother was lovely.”

The tension in Sansa’s shoulders seemed to melt a bit, “Good.” She twisted her fingers in front of her as she bit at her lip, “I just – well I want you to know that you don’t have to worry. About my mom saying anything about, um, well _us_ or about Arya, either. I know that you’ve maybe been thinking about that,” Sansa spoke slowly, her eyes on Margaery’s face, before she shrugged, “But I want you to know that no one is going to tell anyone about your sexuality or anything.”

The fact that Sansa looked so completely earnest made Margaery want to – do too many things. But it was so damn endearing and of course she’d fallen for this woman, “I appreciate that.”

Which, she did. Even if that wasn’t her most prevalent concern, because while it didn’t sit well on her that people who had political ties knew about her sexuality, somewhere along the line it had become less alarming that Sansa’s family knew about her sexuality and more so about what they thought about her.

She might not _know_ Sansa’s family personally, but she trusted their discretion. Especially in a matter that involved Sansa. But Sansa’s concern and the fact that she’d seen to it that no one would say anything was just –

“ _And_ I wanted you to know that I can make up for it. For, you know, the whole you being invited because of our… friendship. I can help you,” Sansa finished, blowing out the rest of her breath before she bit her lip, looking expectantly at Margaery.

With Sansa’s lowly heeled pumps and Margaery’s five-inch stilettos, they were about the same height. And she had a perfect view of the way Sansa was flushed and the bright look in her eyes. It was adorable, but did nothing to truly quell Margaery’s building confusion.

“First of all, Sansa, there’s nothing you need to make up for,” her eyebrows came together in confusion, and she couldn’t help but lean in a little closer into Sansa’s gravity. Feeling her warmth and smelling that subtle perfume, as she searched her face, “Why do you think you need to make up for my being invited her for any reason?”

That look of uncertainty flashed over Sansa’s face, and Margaery hadn’t really planned on this. She’d spent the last week thinking about how to best handle herself in their interactions, but she hadn’t been able to plan on seeing whatever this was that Sansa was feeling.

Especially not when the last time she’d seen her, Sansa was at-home in her apartment, cleaning, stroking Margaery’s hair, and, of course, kissing her. Kissing Margaery softly and sweetly, but confidently, as if her lips belonged there. As if kissing goodbye, all of the time, wasn’t only something to be expected, but something that was thoughtlessly effortless.

And one of those slim shoulders, encased in the light dress that seemed to shine even in the dim lighting, shrugged as Sansa dropped her eyes, “Well, I figured maybe you didn’t want anyone here to only associate you as that, as my friend. Especially since after you got the invitation you were a little… distant,” she finished, her eyes dropping to look over Margaery’s shoulder, large and a little sad.

Okay, Margaery hadn’t really expected there to be any guilt settling in her stomach about that. She really hadn’t thought overly much about her distance toward Sansa at the time, beyond keeping herself busy.

But, damn she did not like that look in Sansa’s eyes at all, “What do you mean by help?”

“Not that you _need_ help,” Sansa rushed to say, as her eyes flew back to Margaery’s, locking on as she shrugged, “It’s just – I was thinking about how a lot of people here that you’ll want to meet can be a little… reluctant to meeting and talking to politicians they think of as outsiders. My dad’s even one of them.”

“Ah, yes, I can recall,” she murmured, easily thinking to her first and only interaction with Ned. Granted, it had been torpedoed by her also meeting Sansa face-to-face, but, still.

“But, I figured that I could help a bit,” she rushed to add, and if Margaery wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of excitement in her tone, “And maybe give you some personal information that you might not have and maybe make some introductions for you,” a deep blush spread over Sansa’s cheeks, as she was quick to add, “Not that you need my help, because I’m sure you could do it on your own. Because you’re, well, you.”

Her voice was soft and she was peering at Margaery through her eyelashes in a way that she could feel down to her toes. She’d had people believe in her before, in her ambitions and goals and ability to get where she wanted to be in life. But her grandmother’s mentoring and her family’s general encouragement didn’t feel quite the same.

That feeling warred for a moment with her instinctive want to turn down the help. It was a fiercely independent streak she’d had for far longer than she could remember; it was one thing to cultivate a team to work with, because Margaery wasn’t stupid and she knew she could get virtually nowhere in politics alone.

It was another entirely to rely on someone who wasn’t on your political campaign or a member of your family to work with. Especially someone you were trying your damndest to maintain a normal distance from.

“I want tonight to be worth your time. Not just… something you ended up coming to because of me, and not getting anything out of it,” Sansa finished, brushing her hands over her stomach in the way Margaery recognized as one of Sansa’s little anxious habits.

And more than this reluctance to accept the help, she hated the uncertain look written all over Sansa’s face. It was surprisingly easy to say, “It wouldn’t be a waste, Sansa. At the very least, I’d see you on New Year’s,” she teased.

No, she didn’t typically accept help from most people, nor did she think she needed to.

But this was _Sansa_ , whose knowledge she valued, who really just wanted to help her, and, “I’d be happy to have your help. At the very least until you believe I can charm some stubborn northern politicians on my own.”

The smile that slid over Sansa’s face made her heart skip a beat, which – huh. It made it a bit more difficult to deny herself how much she wanted to reach out and place her hand over Sansa’s. Just to stop her fidgeting and she itched to feel that – _thing_ between them.

Her hands remained at her sides.

“I think you probably really wouldn’t have any issues with that,” Sansa’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, and the quiet tone had her unconsciously swaying a bit closer.

And, okay, she couldn’t help but let her eyes flicker to those full, pink lips. Subtle lipstick, Margaery noted, most likely smudge resistant. It would be so simple…

“I appreciate your vote of confidence,” she murmured back, and she wondered when exactly Sansa moved even closer to her or if she was imagining that.

“It’s hard to not be confident in your abilities,” she sounded nearly breathless and Margaery couldn’t stop herself from flickering her eyes back down to her mouth.

She knew she was supposed to be keeping her distance… but really, did it matter overly much if they had just one moment? She was sure –

“Sansa? What are you doing back here?” Ned’s voice from behind her startled Margaery enough that her heart started pounding in her chest, and she barely refrained from jumping back guiltily.

Not that she had anything to be guilty of, she reminded herself, allowing herself just a second to maintain her composure. Because the last thing she needed was for Ned Stark to stumble across her just as she was seconds away from giving in and pressing close enough to Sansa to kiss her against the wall in a dark hallway at his party.

Which she shouldn’t be doing at all.

“Dad!” Sansa’s eyes were wide and despite the fact that it was dimly lit, she could see the flush on her cheeks. And Margaery had been thinking that one saving grace was that Ned didn’t know about them beyond their friendship, according to Sansa. Sansa licked her lips before she asked, “What are _you_ doing back here?”

It took more than Margaery thought it would to not step away from Sansa at all, even as her hand felt oddly cold with the sudden lack of contact. But damn if the suspicious look on Ned Stark’s face as he looked between her and Sansa in this dimly lit alcove off of a back hallway as they’d been _holding hands_ didn’t make her stomach knot up.

Still, she slowly blew out her breath and fixed a small smile on her face as gray eyes slowly flickered from Sansa to her, “I was just finishing up some work in my office,” he gestured vaguely down the opposite end of the hallway that they’d come from.

It was probably a good thing it was so dim, as the flush she was certain was on Sansa’s cheeks was practically invisible. But they were standing so close, she could feel the deep breath Sansa took in, “Us, too! That is to say, um, Margaery and I were talking about one of the initiatives she’s been thinking about…”

Sansa trailed off, coughing a bit, and Margaery almost wanted to smile at it – especially because, since when was Sansa so quick on thinking on her feet when put in such a situation? – but Ned was still giving them an unmeasured suspicious look.

So she merely straightened her spine, and resolutely did not inch away from Sansa, no matter what their proximity said about them. Margaery did not flinch away from a situation, especially when _she hadn’t been doing anything wrong_ , she reminded herself. Another minute, and maybe she could have been –

Fixing on a smile, she nodded, “Yes, we were actually discussing the policy I’ve been planning to enact this winter season, providing more shelters and sustenance for the homeless population in King’s Landing. Very similar to the policy you have in assisting the lower income population here in the North.”

The best lies, after all, came from a truth, and that initiative was a truth.

For a moment, the words hung between all three of them. Margaery with an easy smile on her face despite this nervous feeling in her stomach, Sansa nodding along with her, and Ned Stark’s slightly narrowed gray eyes running back and forth between them.

After a few long, long moments, he scratched at his chin and nodded, “Right.” Instead of scratching at his chin, he drew his hand through his hair before blowing out a deep sigh and shaking his head, “Well, if you’d like I could send along some of my foundations for enacting that policy; they were somewhat difficult to get entirely approved and I imagine you will run into even more red tape in King’s Landing. Sansa can bring them back after her vacation.”

The smile that she was resolutely holding nearly fell completely from her mouth from surprise, though luckily that was all she allowed herself to reveal, “Really? That would be incredible. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s no trouble. And, you can call me Ned,” he offered, quietly, before looking between them again, and a _look_ still on his face, but she thought it was more perplexed than anything.

And she certainly wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth during this one instance.

“Thank you, Ned, then,” she corrected, the smile tugging at the corner of her lips more genuine than before.

He still regarded them with a crinkle between his eyebrows, even as he nodded again and took a step backwards out into the hall, “I should be checking in with your mother about the party.”

Though he brushed his hands over the lapels on his suit and shook his head slightly, he didn’t walk away.

Even when Sansa nodded, “You probably should.”

Still, he eyed them from a few feet away, “Yes. And you two should get moving along, as well. Everyone is starting to arrive.”

His words weren’t commanding so much as… speculative. It wasn’t so much politician Ned that she saw right now, as father Ned Stark, the one who had that warmth written into his features at the sight of his children.

And despite the fact that politician Ned Stark was known to be a difficult nut to crack, she would generally rather face him than dad-mode Ned Stark who may or may not know that she’d slept with his daughter.

So it was easy to smile at him and start to edge back out into the hallway, “You’re absolutely right. It would be a terrible shame to miss even a moment.”

That garnered her a thoughtful smile, even as Sansa quickly brushed by him, “Talk to you later, dad.”

She could sense his eyes on them as they quickly walked down the hallway, and it took everything she had not to look back and not to let herself think any farther about the interaction than what she could take from it for certain – policy agreement and _you can call me Ned_.

As they turned the corner, though, her spine relaxed a little bit as she took a deep breath. And it was so easy – too easy – to sway into Sansa a bit, nudging her with her arm, “That went well.”

The cute little furrow between Sansa’s brows didn’t disappear even when she did that thing where she shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, “Yeah,” she agreed, slowly, “It’s just – odd.” Those blue eyes turned to her finally, instead of looking in confusion ahead of them, “He just – he’s never so forthright about politicians he’s unfamiliar with calling him Ned. Or, most people, in general, when he doesn’t really know them.”

Sansa didn’t move away, though, and instead, pressed their arms closer together, and the warmth was so alarmingly comforting.

“Maybe he likes me,” she dared to tease.

Pink lips curled into a smile, even as Sansa shook her head slightly, “I guess so. Who wouldn’t?”

Eyes narrowed, Margaery nudged her again, “Smooth girl.”

“Honest girl,” Sansa corrected as they neared the grand rooms again, where Margaery couldn’t yet see inside but she could already hear that there were more people than there had been before, even a few minutes ago.

Gods, what was she even supposed to do with these feelings Sansa evoked in her stomach? Shaking her head at herself, she moved slightly away from Sansa, easier to clear these feelings from her system, to peer into the room.

Now was not the time for distractions or feelings; it was showtime.

With a deep breath and a familiar feeling sliding through her at the prospect of networking – professional excitement, which was a rush she enjoyed and was headier than almost anything – she quirked an eyebrow, “Can you keep that good luck up with politicians who aren’t your father?”

Her tone was light, deliberately so, and it was a curiously unfamiliar look that lit up Sansa’s eyes. Determined, she thought, and – huh. She filed it away, as Sansa nodded, and led the way in.

The rooms were starting to bustle with people, most unfamiliar to Margaery on immediate sight, and she’d admit that she was glad to have Sansa for this part. The very beginning, she assured herself, and then she would let Sansa get on with her evening, before she continued to network solitarily.

In a surprising move, she felt herself being led by a warm, firm hand on her lower back, as Sansa murmured, “We should start over there,” Sansa nodded to the far side of the room, and Margaery saw a large man, “Jon Umber – Greatjon. If you don’t get to him early, he’ll be too drunk to remember anything important.”

There was no point in the evening where Margaery had expected to not have to be on full alert winning over the famously staunch Northern business people and politicians. She’d been as prepared as she could have been but she in no way could have accounted for the evening.

They started with Greatjon Umber.

“He was in the military for years,” Sansa murmured, warm breath washing over her ear and making her shiver, as they approached him, “And his oldest son is in the marines, now.”

He’d greeted Sansa jovially, loudly – regarding her with a barely more than a wary look after their introduction – before Sansa had segued into getting him to reminisce about the time he beat Ned while playing hockey, years ago. It was clearly something he’d loved to talk about, and Margaery listened with a rapt look on her face, before Sansa cut in at the end, “Right! And Smalljon played too, right? How is he doing?”

The man was clearly proud of his son, boasting, “Doing right well!”

She hadn’t expected the ease with which Sansa drew her in, “Margaery, a friend of mine from King’s Landing, is actually quite invested in military spending.”

“Yeah?” he spoke as though weighing what he wanted to say to her in his mind, and it was a perfect time to cut in.

She discussed her support for the current benefits to the military, and by the time they were done, she’d had an exchange of business cards, and a rather jarring but exuberant pat on the shoulder from the large man.

They continued, moving on to Maege Mormont, Sansa leaning close to whisper about some of the Mormont’s history and about how Bear Island had been taking on more of a look for tourism in seasonal getaways and wilderness walkabouts in recent years, building on what knowledge she’d been able to gather.

“A little rough around the edges, really, but she’ll go to war for you if she likes you. She’s got five daughters, who she is insanely proud of,” were the last words Sansa managed out before they reached her.

“Ms. Mormont,” Sansa smiled warmly in the face of the weathered older woman, “How are you? And Jory, I’ve heard she’s up to some great adventures in her sails out in the Bay of Ice.”

The woman was clearly no-nonsense woman warmed a bit, though, and nodded at Sansa while talking about her daughters, which easily led into Sansa asking, “So that excursion business she’s started with Lyra is going well? I was just telling my friend Margaery here –”

And as if they’d rehearsed it, as if she’d known Sansa was going to turn those warm, expectant, intelligent eyes onto her at that moment, she was already extending her hand, “Margaery Tyrell, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The look she got in response wasn’t even cautious in response as she got a firm handshake, “Maege Mormont.”

“I was just telling my friend Margaery here, about some struggles attracting southerners to certain parts of the North,” Sansa finished.

And it led perfectly into Maege going into a semi-rant about southerners and tourism, but also gave way into Margaery discussing her professional connections to some businesses in King’s Landing and The Reach, as well as into the Department of Business in the Red Keep, and with another exchange of cards.

Which gave her another thrill as Sansa murmured to her, “I’ve never seen her give out her information so fast to someone new.”

She talked to Howland Reed about their similar views on the environment, his opening from Sansa talking about his children and her brother. She left with a handshake and a promise for a phone call and a personal tour of the Keep the next time business brought him south.

And from there, she stopped keeping track as they met with a whole number of people. Politicians and businesspeople that she hadn’t expected to be so friendly to her right away.

They’d only bumped into one of Sansa’s siblings, the youngest, young with the promise to become handsome, with unruly auburn curls and a winning smile that slightly reminded her of Sansa’s when she got mischievous.

Who hurried past them on his way across the room, adjusting his bowtie and aiming a smile at them, saying, “Sorry, Sans!” before looking at her and not-so-subtly saying to his sister, “She _is_ pretty!”

It went without saying that she relished in the blush high on Sansa’s cheeks as she shoo’d her younger brother along, and in the way she’d toyed at the bottom of her sleeve as she’d quickly explained, “I, um, well might have bribed my siblings to mind their own business tonight. Even Robb. He’d vote for you over Cersei any day, though,” she was quick to assure.

And along the way, she forgot that this was a plan that Sansa had thought up, thinking that she had forced Margaery into being somewhere or doing something she hadn’t wanted to do tonight. She forgot that she’d expected Sansa to taper off and enjoy her evening with her friends and family.

She forgot that she was supposed to be keeping an eye on the distance she kept from Sansa, as they ended up leaning into one another a bit, as they chatted and made conversations with the various Northerners, mixed in with a few people from The Vale and The Riverlands. To be honest, more people than she’d expected for the night –

Then again, she hadn’t counted on having Sansa work magic by her side.

She forgot that she was supposed to be distancing herself, and not falling into this easiness and this warmth that had become so prevalent with her.

It was so easy, that she didn’t even realize how close they were standing and how much she was enjoying the warmth until they were leaning into one another next to one of the refreshment tables.

“Over two hours, and I swear we’ve talked to half the room,” Sansa spoke softly, almost conspiratorially, as she handed Margaery a glass of water.

And she couldn’t not grin back, “I know,” brown eyes surveyed the room, before landing back on Sansa, enjoying the way her hair fell down her back, and the flush of excitement on her cheeks.

Over two hours, and Sansa had seemed just as into their networking as she’d been. Never wavering or faltering in her knowledge or comments or smiles and –

“You’re really good at this,” the words slipped out softly, and she wanted to curse at herself because she could _hear_ the affection in them, but it was so true.

Wide blue eyes turned to look at her, “What?”

“This,” Margaery gestured around the room, “You know just what to say to who, you remember all of the details… my grandmother is having a party, in a couple of weeks. Every year, on the anniversary of her inauguration, she throws this big thing – lots of people from the Keep, and from all over, really. A lot of “who’s who” – that my grandmother wants to talk to or get support from, of course,” she added with a wink, “But, you should come.”

It just seemed so natural, to invite Sansa. To imagine her there, in that world, with her.

Especially when Sansa’s eyes widened and that surprised smile pulled at her mouth, “Really? To your grandmother’s party?”

Gods, she could only imagine now the look she was going to get from Loras, but – with the way she was feeling after the last few hours and the warm way Sansa’s gaze settled inside of her… “Yes, you should.”

“I’d love that.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before anything came out, she noticed the commotion behind Sansa’s back. And by commotion, she meant Jeyne, who was giving her a look she couldn’t quite place. But like most Jeyne-looks toward her, it wasn’t extremely pleasant.

It was enough to have her drawing back slightly, as if realizing exactly where she was – Stark party – and who she was with – Sansa – and that she was leaning precariously close to her. That throughout the evening, her arm had at several points slid around Sansa’s waist, that Sansa had guided her with her hand on her lower back, and that she’d felt relaxed by it.

Sansa’s eyebrows crinkled slightly in question at her moving back, “Wha –”

“Sans, I haven’t seen you in forever,” Jeyne reached them, bumping her hip lightly against Sansa’s. She wore a black dress that draped nicely over her body, and slung her arm over Sansa’s shoulder even as Sansa rolled her eyes a bit.

“I saw you this morning, before you went back home to get ready for the party,” she tossed back, nudging Jeyne back.

Jeyne rolled her eyes, “Yeah, but _usually_ at this party, you’re with me and the other girls. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been asked what it is you’ve been up to?” She fixed Margaery with a speculative eye, that gleam that she was now familiar with, even if it still made her a bit uneasy, “And might I say, I do love the complementary outfits tonight.”

She didn’t have to look to know that Sansa was blushing, because she thought even she might if blushing was something she _did_. Because, seven hells, they _were_ complementing one another… her dark blue suit, Sansa in her light blue dress –

And they’d been together all evening, giving one another those easy touches, and Margaery had to take a deep breath to calm her stomach. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself, to any outside observer they were just, friends.

Which they were.

Sansa elbowed Jeyne in the ribs, “We are _not_ … matching,” she muttered even though there was still color high on her cheeks while her eyes fixated on Margaery’s suit.

Jeyne shrugged, tightening her arm around Sansa’s shoulder, “Sure you aren’t, babe. Now, hopefully I’m not pulling you away from anything too serious,” and Margaery could swear there was a sharp dig in there somewhere, even if she couldn’t pinpoint it, especially with the look Jeyne aimed at her, “But I would very much like to get our group picture in and some dancing, before midnight strikes and you turn into a cute little pumpkin.”

“Jeyne, I told you –” Sansa started speaking lowly, and Margaery _couldn’t_ miss the look Sansa threw her.

It was the look, with the realization that Sansa had thrown her whole night into helping Margaery when this was a party she typically enjoyed with her friends and family, coupled with the fact that… fuck, this was the complete opposite of managing her feelings for the woman.

She’d fallen so easily into these feelings for Sansa, that were somehow simultaneously comforting when she was with her – mostly – and unsettling to say the least at almost all other times.

So, she quickly shook her head, “No, you should go enjoy the rest of the night. You’ve done so much more than enough tonight,” her voice gentled somewhat unintentionally as she finished, making eye contact with Sansa, and holding it. “Really. I don’t want to take up your whole night. You deserve to have some fun.”

“I _was_ having fun,” she insisted, even though it was quiet and then she bit her lip after as if holding something back, before shaking her head minutely. “I guess, though, if you want to finish up alone, I could go…”

“Perfect. I’m sure Margaery here is _talented_ enough to finish making contacts and all by herself,” Jeyne piped in, her voice that false cheerful that she so often used with Margaery in the last couple of months.

The one that sort of sounded like a serial killer, but Margaery was fairly certain Jeyne liked it that way.

“Jeyne –” Sansa started again, her expression pinched, and there was something loaded there, in the look they exchanged that Margaery wasn’t privy to. It was almost galling how much she wanted to be privy.

Either way, though, before any of those… unwanted uncertainties and feelings could creep in again, Margaery shook her head, “Darling, you should go have fun with your friends.”

“You heard the woman,” Jeyne added on, sending her a nod, “Come on, you’ve got a full dance card already. Me being the first on the list, of course,” she added on.  

Sansa rolled her eyes, though hesitating as she looked back to Margaery, “I guess… okay. If you don’t… well I’ll be around.”

“You aren’t going off to war, love, just across the dance floor. If Magnificent Margaery wants to sign up to be on your dance card, I’m sure you will make room,” Jeyne tossed in as she started to direct Sansa away.

It was an irrational, utterly irrational and unfair and ridiculous, thought that crossed her mind as to _who_ exactly was on Sansa’s dance card. And she forced a smile onto her lips, because – Sansa should go and dance with whomever she wants, and Margaery should continue to network.

“Don’t forget, the Manderly’s,” Sansa mouthed over her shoulder, tilting her head to the other side of the room, where their next “targets” so-to-speak stood.

She sent Sansa a smirk and a wink, “Got it.”

She took a few minutes to gather herself. Her thoughts and shake her shoulders for a moment, trying not to think at all about how simple it had been to lose herself in networking with Sansa like that. When typically she’d only ever done that with Renly, and even then, having her friend and boss with her felt more like a formality than anything.

With Sansa, it had felt natural. Like working a well-oiled machine to perfection. And if her eyes flickered to where Sansa stood with her friends for the next couple of minutes, laughing easily with them and even able to see those blue eyes flash brightly from across the room, well – Margaery supposed it couldn’t be helped.

She’d already admitted to herself that she was out of her depth here.

But she only allowed that… that weakness for as long as it took her to finish her drink. She made eye contact with Loras, who seemed to be having the time of his life dancing, before she took a deep breath. Working the room by herself was what she’d expected when coming here tonight, and it was what she was used to.

It wasn’t _lonely_.

Drawing her spine up straight, she fixed that smile on her face, and went to work.

When it was less than ten minutes to midnight, Margaery had officially spent an hour and a half networking sans Sansa, and it had been victorious. Less enjoyable in a way, which was alarming, and she pushed that thought to the back of her head just as she reached for a glass of champagne. Finally.

It had been a successful evening, she thought, as she let out a deep breath and just took a moment. She had phone numbers and plans for future meetings with people she’d never have gotten without this evening. With people many southern politicians never got to make on a personal level, and that knowledge alone gave her a feeling of pride and triumph.

So much so that it was difficult to hide her smirk.

Tonight? She felt like she’d… mostly kept her feelings in check, she’d made contacts, felt somewhat refreshed after her time with Sansa – it was lining up to be lovely. She’d even managed quite well to resolutely not look at Sansa, for the most part, in the last few hours. And certainly to not feel any sort of jealousy as she had indeed looked like she’d been enjoying herself on the dancefloor.

Margaery did not do jealousy.  And she’d earned this extra glass of champagne.

She was mid-sip when she saw out of the corner of her eye that she wasn’t alone any longer. The moment she’d allowed herself to relax minutely disappeared, even as she lowered her glass as normal.

Catelyn held her own glass of champagne, but if Margaery were a betting woman, she would gamble that she only drank the smallest bit. Much like herself.

There was a look in her eyes, though, that made Margaery’s spine straighten, “Ms. Tyrell, I was hoping we’d have another moment to chat this evening.”

She gave a slightly apologetic grin, “I apologize; I’ve been somewhat on the move,” she offered, even as her mind quickly circled around wondering – exactly what was Catelyn Stark seeking her out near the end of the evening to discuss?

Something told her it wasn’t politics.

“The party has been lovely. Thank you, again, for inviting me,” she took a small sip of her champagne. Very small, as there was no way she would be caught around the woman in front of her with any mental faculties not completely intact.

The older woman angled her head slightly in acknowledgement, “I’m very glad you could make it,” the words sounded sincere, and Margaery’s eyes narrowed the slightest bit, before widening as Catelyn continued, “It’s given me the opportunity to observe you a bit. And by all accounts, you seem to be a beautiful, accomplished, charming, and intelligent young woman. I can see why my daughter enjoys your company.”

It was difficult, really, to school her features in the way that was usually second nature to her, with the rush of surprise she got… followed by the suspicion curling low in her stomach.

“Ah, thank you?” the questioning tone was unavoidable. Especially because the look in Catelyn’s eyes was making her incredibly uneasy, and those words that _should_ sound like a compliment really sounded like anything but.

The firm draw of Cat’s mouth confirmed that feeling, “And while I promised Sansa that I wasn’t going to discuss your relationship with her, I would be remiss if I neglected this opportunity to have an actual conversation with you. While you seem like a lovely young lady, Ms. Tyrell, I also know that you have ambitions, and that those ambitions will lead you down certain paths with your personal life.”

The absolute sense of dread that tinged her senses was so incredibly nerve-wracking, that Margaery swore her entire stomach dropped. Her voice was even, though, as she tilted her head, “What exactly do you want to _discuss_ , Mrs. Stark?”

She supposed if there was something about Catelyn that she liked, it was that she was direct, as she faced Margaery completely, “Who you are and what decisions you make about what to share about who you are, are your own; I wouldn’t dare take that from you. But I also want you to know that you are _not_ the only person those decisions affect. Sansa cares for you, very much, and she cares for your… friendship. When Sansa cares for someone as she does you, she is extremely selfless, which can often be taken advantage of – even unwittingly – by others who are more selfish.”

The words felt like a piercing low in the stomach and Margaery took a deep breath as if to soothe them, “I can assure you, hurting Sansa is the last thing I want. And there is nothing I have ever done with her or to her that she has misconceptions about.”

Margaery had been honest with Sansa about everything to expect in their relationship, no matter what context, from the beginning.

Catelyn’s eyebrows lifted as she _hmm_ ’d, “I’m not trying to imply that you’re a bad person, Ms. Tyrell, or that you shouldn’t have your wants and ambitions. Far from that. I’m merely saying that I can tell that you care for Sansa, and I know you are in a difficult position. But I would very much advise you to be careful with your footing. I’ve seen my daughter be hurt far too many times.”

Margaery very deliberately took a sip of her champagne, even as her heart hammered a bit, her thoughts moving a bit too fast for comfort as they ran over Cat’s words, “I do care for Sansa,” she spoke slowly, her throat burning with the truth of the words, “Very much. And I don’t want to hurt her.”

Was this typical? Was this the parental warning when one was dating their child? _Dating_ , the word wrapped tightly around Margaery’s throat and pulled painfully, her heart thudding in her ears.

Something she’d said, though, seemed to ring well for Catelyn, who regarded her with a frighteningly knowing look, “I’m glad.”

It was too much. It was far too much to contemplate, because she and Sansa _weren’t_ together, certainly wouldn’t be. And for that matter, she didn’t even want to give a name to the feelings she had regarding Sansa.

Certainly didn’t want to think about giving them a name while Sansa’s mother was looking at her like that.

And for the first time in her life, Margaery fled a conversation. Clearing her throat, she delicately placed her glass back down, “If you’ll excuse me, I need some fresh air.”

She reached the double doors that led out to the immaculately shoveled and lit up balcony in what had to have been record timing, especially given that she hadn’t let herself run. She might have been running away from a conversation, but she did not lower herself that much.

The cold air was again like a slap, especially without a jacket, but as she shut the door and leaned back against the siding of the house, it felt like clarity. It helped her catch her breath, helped slow her thoughts down.

Helped her process the fact that what Catelyn had said didn’t really change anything or affect her… just confirmed, really, that she knew she and Sansa were more than just friends. And that perhaps she was more in-tune to Margaery’s feelings than even her daughter was.

A frightening thought on it’s own, but not unbearable, she told herself, as she tilted her head back and took in a breath of icy air deep into her lungs, eyes closed.

Her eyes only snapped open, her posture righting itself, when she heard the door open again.

And – of course it was Sansa. Who, even in her dress, didn’t seem fazed by the frigid air. The door stayed cracked open behind her, filtering out some sounds of music and chatter from inside, and illuminating Sansa’s face.

That open concern and those wide eyes tracking over Margaery’s features, “I – well, I saw you talking to my mom,” she worried at her bottom lip, “Did she – she told me she wasn’t going to say anything. Did she do anything to upset you?”

The sheer concern in her voice was almost enough to bring Margaery to her knees.

Anything to upset her? Like, bring up Margaery’s feelings for Sansa in a way that made her realize people other than her brother could see that they were real? Like, give her some version of the family-threat to a significant other? Like, make Margaery really think about what a dangerous line she was walking, doing this with Sansa _Stark_ , whose family really did have so much influence in her professional world?

Like, make her think all over again, about the fact that these feelings alone were enough to jeopardize her entire world and she had no idea what to do with them?

But she let out a slow deep breath that she hoped masked the shuddering that _wanted_ to escape, and she shook her head, “No. Your mother… loves you very much. It’s nice.”

And it was nice, abstractly, to think about that. To know how much Sansa loved her family, and to be able to see that it was reflected right back at her.

“Are you sure?” Sansa asked, dubiously, “Because, you can tell me. I know my family can sometimes be intrusive, and I can do my best to bribe my siblings into minding their own business, but my mom – well.”

She shrugged, adorable, looking so nervous that there was something in her expression that worked to calm Margaery in a way.

“I’m sure. Your mother is a formidable woman, but I just needed a moment to breathe,” she told her, leaning back against the wall for a moment.

It was only Sansa, who could see her without her perfect posture and professionalism. Who _had_ already seen her like that, several times over.

“Okay, good,” Sansa flickered her eyes back inside, where there was somewhat of a hush that Margaery only just noticed, before there was a startling collection of _ten!_ Called out.

And Sansa took a deep breath as she shut her eyes for a moment, her chest rising and falling as she seemed to collect herself, before rushing out, “And that’s not the only reason I came out here.”

_Nine._ And oh. It was the count-down.

“No?” her whisper was carried on the wind to Sansa, and she quirked an eyebrow.

_Eight_.

Sansa shook her head, her hands tangling in front of her, as she took a step away from the door and closer to Margaery.

_Seven._

Her heart hammered in anticipation even as her thoughts came to a halt. Sansa was going to do it again. On a non-benefits night, there was going to be a kiss. Margaery’s lips tingled already. Damn all the gods.

_Six._

“I know it’s not – I know we aren’t having a benefits night,” Sansa began, taking another step closer and Margaery’s body already got goosebumps thinking about having Sansa’s warmth close enough to feel.

_Five._

“But it is a holiday tradition and all, so I thought…” another step closer, and her hands pressed into the skirt of her dress now.

_Four_.

“We could, um,” her breath washed over Margaery’s jaw with how close they were.

_Three._

“Because of…” Sansa trailed off, her eyes dipping to Margaery’s lips, and she licked them without thinking, enjoying the way Sansa’s breath hitched, “Tradition,” she finished.

_Two_.

“Tradition,” Margaery repeated, and her thoughts had landed on a resounding _no_. Every logical thought she had told her to let Sansa down and to go inside.

_One_.

Her hands didn’t listen, though, and she reached out to stroke her hands along Sansa’s waist, feeling her, as the cheers erupted from inside and Sansa pushed forward.

Their lips met slowly at first, Margaery leaning up and just off the wall of the house, as the tasted Sansa for the first time in weeks. Their breath mingled, so warm in the freezing air, enticing, with just the whisper of their lips touching.

And then Sansa pushed forward a bit more, pressing Margaery back against the cold wall, making her mouth drop in a gasp as she felt Sansa’s hands stroke down her sides, tugging at her suit jacket as Sansa’s soft lips encased her bottom one and sucked, in a way that made Margaery’s toes curl.

Not to be outdone, she dug her nails in just a bit, enough to feel Sansa’s quickening of breath against her, as she flicked her tongue up along Sansa’s top lip, and –

“Margaery,” Sansa sighed so softly into her mouth that she _felt_ it more than heard it, sending shivers down her spine.

Gods, she _wanted_ this woman. There never seemed to be enough of her, and Margaery didn’t have any clue what to do with that. It was a sobering thought. Sobering enough to have her press a soft, but chaste kiss to the corner of Sansa’s mouth as she drew back.

Heavily lidded eyes blinked back at her, but didn’t move away, not yet.

Her conversation with her brother earlier seemed to echo in her ears… her life goals meant she had to make sacrifices along the way, she thought again, dimly in the back of her mind, as she held Sansa’s bright blue gaze with her own.

“We should get back inside,” she murmured, giving Sansa’s waist a soft squeeze, before she let her hands fall to her own side.

The thing was, Margaery had never minded having to make that sacrifice. She’d never let herself feel enough for anyone that it really felt like a sacrifice. Before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so incredibly much for reading! Please tell me your thoughts and feelings :) I truly cannot apologize enough for the delay between chapters... all I can really say is thank you so, so much for everyone who is sticking with me through this story. It will under no circumstances be abandoned and will be finished. Even if it takes us a while to get there!


	19. A Black Tie Affair

Sansa had been to many political events in her life. Starting before she could even remember, really, and they had never caused her any semblance of nerves. These functions – electoral celebrations, fundraisers, galas, etc – they were all a part of what came along with being the daughter of a politician.

And she enjoyed them, typically. Even if she _didn’t_ enjoy them on certain occasions, they were simply a part of life that was just ingrained into her.

Attend, look nice, socialize, put a smile on. She wasn’t even the most outgoing of her siblings, but the events gave her a certain rush. It was quite simple, in all honesty.

But for the first time in her life, she was nervous about attending. Her stomach felt like this low tangle of anxiety on a constant buzz, and she blew out a long, deep breath in attempt to quell these nerves, running a hand over her stomach and rubbing back and forth.

It didn’t help, and she frowned down at herself.

The dress she had on was nice – no, it was more than nice. It was black and clingier at her hips and chest than she was typically used to, with one strap over her shoulder and leaving the other bare. In all honesty, it sort of reminded her of a dress that Margaery would pick out. It was classy but classily… revealing.

And, well, when she’d gone dress shopping two weeks ago, she’d seen this one on the rack and what had caught her attention more than anything was imagining Margaery’s reaction to seeing her in it. She was so very familiar with the way Margaery’s eyes got darker and the way she looked like she wanted to devour her right at that moment.

Just the thought of it sent a jolt through her.

Which, at the time of buying the dress, that reaction had been somewhat embarrassing, given that she’d gone to the mall with her mother a couple of days before coming back to King’s Landing.

The afternoon itself had been – interesting. Despite the fact that she had spent another ten days back at her parent’s house after the New Year’s Eve party, she still hadn’t learned what exactly her mother had said to Margaery that had made her rush outside with the sudden need for fresh air.

As much as she trusted her mother, who would only tell her that she merely had a “short conversation with your friend Margaery about her ambitions,” she suspected there was more to it than that.

Regardless, Sansa had spent the afternoon with her mother, having their traditional evening together before returning south. Shopping and getting dinner and chatting about anything and everything. Her mother suspiciously avoided any conversation about Margaery save for the way she’d raised her eyebrows in surprise when Sansa had told her about attending Olenna Tyrell’s inauguration anniversary party.

She done her best to ignore it, though. Because for as much as she cared about her mother’s opinion – and she did – she didn’t necessarily want to think about it when it came to the woman she was sleeping with.

“She seems very bright, very impressive. I can see why you like her,” is what her mother _had_ said, and she could tell that she meant that much, at least.

Sansa was content to take it and leave it at that. Especially since she was fielding comments for the rest of her time at home from Rickon about Margaery, and she was doing her very best to not let it go to her head thinking about how it felt every time that he referred to her as Sansa’s girlfriend.

She _wasn’t_ Margaery’s girlfriend, of course, and she knew that. But she also knew that Margaery had enjoyed spending the party networking with her, and she knew that before Margaery had left later that night to return to her hotel, she’d sought Sansa out and had kissed her again – quickly, privately, but still.

And she knew that no matter what their romantic non-relationship status was, that it was something extremely special to be invited to Margaery’s grandmother’s annual party.

It was Olenna Tyrell, for the sake of the gods! It wasn’t just any get-together. It wasn’t an evening spent with just any old politician that she’d grown up around or someone who worked closely with her father.

It was the grandmother of the woman she was sleeping with, who she had strong feelings for… who was also the most powerful and influential person in the entre country. Sansa normally got along well with parents – Cersei Lannister excluded – and grandparents.

Family members of her friends and admittedly limited romantic partners, liked her. It was something she prided herself on.

But tonight was big. It felt big. And she looked at herself in the mirror, taking a deep breath as she mumbled, “Just – be yourself.”

She caught her own eyes and bit her lip. She looked good. Good enough to meet Olenna Tyrell, the first female Prime Minister of her country? Grandmother and idol to the woman she had feelings for?

“Gods,” she whispered to herself, huffing out a breath before she fixed her eyes on one of the final pieces of her outfit.

The sapphire earrings that Margaery had given to her for Christmas caught the light and twinkled back at her, and the sight of them made her smile just a bit, calling on that feeling in her stomach to warm.

It was going to be okay. This was just a party – an important party, but nothing she was completely unfamiliar with.

And if Margaery invited her, it meant good things. At the very least it meant Margaery thought Sansa wouldn’t be out of place and that she wanted her to meet the woman who shaped her life so much. Which was already a pretty big thing for her friend, and she knew it.

But maybe – maybe it meant even more than that, too. Maybe… it meant even better things, she thought, and the thrill that shot through her made her stomach flip for different reasons than nerves.

Okay, no.

Shaking her hands out a bit, Sansa gave herself a serious look in the mirror.

“It doesn’t _mean_ anything,” she murmured, punctuated with a nod.

Despite the fact that she knew her hopes were up, she had been trying to convince herself for the last couple of weeks, ever since she’d gotten the invitation from Margaery, that this night meant nothing more for them than what they already had.

She didn’t want to take the risk of Margaery going radio silent on her again, even if everything had seemed normal since then. And, okay, she thought as she secured her second earring, even if this was _something_ , she had to keep her cool as much as she could.

She –

Jumped when Jeyne pounded on her door, “I hope you’re decent because I’m coming in!”

Sansa shook her head, fighting against the smile that pulled at her lips, as her door was thrown open. Without looking at her friend, she quirked an eyebrow, “Since when does it matter if I’m decent before you come in?”

She could see in the mirror the cheeky grin Jeyne threw her before she flopped down onto Sansa’s bed, “It doesn’t. I was just knocking for your somewhat modest benefit.”

Shaking her head, she watched Jeyne through her mirror for a few seconds, watching as her friend frowned, toyed with the ends of a blanket on Sansa’s bed, and then sighed and watched Sansa with an even deeper frown.

She knew that she only had to wait a few seconds before the words would come out, because she knew Jeyne, “So, you look like quite the dream.”

Huffing out a laugh, Sansa finally turned to face her friend, leaning against her bureau, “You _know_ what tonight is.”

She knew Jeyne knew, because her friend had spent the last few weeks dropping comments about Sansa not going.

Dark eyes stared back at her before Jeyne groaned and dropped back onto Sansa’s bed, “I didn’t think you were really going to go, though!”

Confusion rolled through her, eyebrows knitting together, “Why wouldn’t I go? It’s – I can meet Olenna Tyrell. You know. The _Prime Minister_. Who you have stated several times you would kill to meet.” as if Jeyne needed the reminder.

Why wouldn’t anyone take advantage of that?

Jeyne just gave her a patented look that did nothing to alleviate her confusion. Sansa crossed her arms, and they had a standoff for a few moments before the brunette sighed again, sitting at the edge of the bed to look up at Sansa’s face.

“Because. You’re going to Margaery’s grandmother’s party. You know, Margaery? The girl you maintain you aren’t dating?” Jeyne’s voice was light and faux-thoughtful, and Sansa rolled her eyes.

“We’re _not_ dating,” her denial was immediate but – admittedly, not all that strong, and she bit her lip.

It was complicated… they weren’t dating. And she knew it. But those rules they’d agreed on were blurring, and she knew that wasn’t all in her head. She’d spent too much time laying in bed going over all of these moments they had, all of Margaery’s words and actions, to know that it wasn’t just her.

She just – she just had to not push Margaery and not let herself get too wrapped up in everything too soon.

Shaking her head slightly, she tried to push those thoughts out of her head, and met Jeyne’s gaze. Which was considering, as she gave her those big dark puppy-dog eyes that she only wore when she was extremely serious.

It was enough to compel Sansa forward, smoothing her dress under her and sitting next to her on the edge of her bed. Because, well, she’d known Jeyne for the better part of their lives, so she’d seen her look this way several times even if it wasn’t entirely common.

“Okay. I have,” she checked her phone, “Five minutes before I need to leave. Come on, tell me what you’re thinking and get it out of the way.”

Jeyne narrowed her eyes before she groaned in frustration, and reached out to squeeze Sansa’s hand in hers, “Just… be careful.”

“Do you think I’m going to be assassinated tonight at Olenna Tyrell’s party?” she teased, and she was already reaching up to block Jeyne’s hand as it came up to swat at her shoulder.

Her friend scoffed out a laughed, even when she huffed out a breath, “Shut up. Gods, you’ve been spending too much time with me, you smartass. I mean, be careful of Margaery.”

It was hard to describe how those words made her feel, really. Unsurprised, because she _knew_ Jeyne didn’t care for Margaery. She’d have known it even if Jeyne never made her little shaded comments about her, because she just – she knew Jeyne. And even if there was a little part in her that was appreciative of it, because she was lucky to have a friend like her.

But that appreciative part in her didn’t outweigh the exasperation.

“Be careful of Margaery?” she didn’t draw her hands through her hair as she somewhat wanted to, because she’d already curled it and put it up in an intricate bun that she didn’t have time to redo. But she could hear her own frustration in her words, “Margaery, the woman _you_ sent a message to on my behalf. Who _you_ encouraged me to seek out and hook up with, from the very beginning! And yet ever since I have been actually having sex with her, you’ve been so against everything.”

She didn’t normally feel this, this actual vexation with Jeyne, either. Occasional annoyance, as was typical for being so close to someone, as was typical for friendships. But her heart was beating quickly with this irritation and she hated it.

And Jeyne, for her part, looked chastised. A bit, anyway, “Okay, maybe I’m guilty of all that. In my defense, I set this whole thing up thinking that if you were every going to do it – and that is a big if! – she was going to be a one time thing. But –” she arched her eyebrows in challenge, “Now, you like her! A lot.”

She broke off, staring at Sansa expectantly, as if waiting for an answer to a question she didn’t ask.

Sansa stared back in confusion.

Which seemed to serve to frustrate Jeyne, whose mouth fell open, “You’re not even going to deny it?”

Blue eyes rolled, hard, “Why should I? We both know I like her.”

The truth of the words was almost painful, but at this point, she wasn’t even sure if how much she liked Margaery could be masked in front of anyone. Her mother, her sister, more than one of her brothers had seen it. Denying it to Jeyne, of all people, would just be fruitless.

She wondered how apparent it was to Margaery, still, and felt the corresponding twisting of nerves in her stomach at the thought.

“Exactly! You like her and she has seemed pretty clear that despite being supposedly intelligent, that she isn’t going to see beyond herself to see how good you are, how much you really like her, and what an amazing girlfriend you would be, and so, I can’t help but worry!” the words seemed to explode from Jeyne, her voice getting higher pitched as she went, uncharacteristically, her eyes wide and searching Sansa’s.

Almost pleading with her.

And the frustration that had been welling up, that had honestly had a seedling building over Jeyne’s disapproval over Margaery for a little while now, dissolved. It was unstoppable, really, because in spite of her somewhat overprotective tendencies, Jeyne was the single most best friend she could have.

It warmed her, even as much as she tried to remind herself that Jeyne didn’t know Margaery as well as Sansa did.

She reached out now, grabbing her friends hand and threading their fingers together, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Her friend gave her a wry look, “You’re my precious sunflower; of course I have to worry about you.” A laugh worked out of her throat and she squeezed Jeyne’s hand, even when her friend shook her head, a small smile playing on her face. “But, in all seriousness, I’ve seen a Sansa Stark heartbreak too many times. And as your best friend, I have to say, it’s an awful experience, and it gives me the right to want to punch anyone who causes it in the face.”

The certainty in the way she said it both gave her a rush of affection and the urge to roll her eyes, “You’re forgetting, Margaery hasn’t _done_ anything. You’ve just jumped to the conclusion that she is going to hurt me. You don’t…” she broke off on a sigh, unable to stop thinking about the little things that she couldn’t quite describe to her friend.

The way she would look at Sansa in the moments that were just between them, when they were just talking. The look where she smiled so unguarded or would laugh. The moments where she held onto Sansa like she didn’t want to let her go. The moments that Sansa was sure Margaery wasn’t truly able to let herself accept – yet.

But she was patient, and she was so willing to let Margaery come to terms with these things on her own.

Like last week, when Margaery had invited Sansa to come over to her apartment for the first time since she’d returned from her holiday with her parents. She’d told Sansa to bring an overnight bag in her text, and had bit her lip when she’d seen her, and pulled Sansa into a kiss, stroking her thumb over her cheek and telling her that she’d missed her since New Year’s Eve.

Like the way Margaery had stayed in bed five minutes later than her alarm – which she knew by now never happened – and when she _had_ gotten up, she’d murmured to Sansa that she could stay if she wanted, despite the fact that Margaery had to go to work.

Those things, those little things, were enough to make Sansa’s chest warm and her heart race, and – and she couldn’t share them with Jeyne. Not in the way that she wanted to.

Because she knew Jeyne wouldn’t see it as what it was. No, Margaery wasn’t professing feelings, but… it was something. Something different than what it had been at first, months ago.

With a deep breath, she squeezed Jeyne’s hand in hers once more, “Margaery is a good person. She’s,” the smile pulling at her mouth was damning, but she couldn’t help it, “special. She really is. And I’m not asking you to be her friend – yet – but just please keep in mind that she is mine.”

Her friend flipped her hand around so she could squeeze Sansa’s back, even though she was clearly reluctant, “… okay. I’ll do my best.” Jeyne gave her a begrudging smile, “And it _is_ pretty damn awesome that her grandmother is Olenna Tyrell and that you’re going to meet her.”

“Crap!” Throwing a quick glimpse at the time, Sansa quickly pulled Jeyne into a hug, “I was supposed to leave two minutes ago.”

She _couldn’t_ be late to this. Not when it was such an Event, not when Margaery was never late for anything, and she was going as Margaery’s – friend.

When she pulled back from the hug, Jeyne was giving her a skeptical look that was thankfully a bit less serious and more teasing. Still with an edge, though, as she asked, “Margaery isn’t even picking you up for your not date? How else am I supposed to threaten her?”

Sansa pushed at Jeyne’s shoulder as she pushed herself up, “First of all, that’s a reason _not_ to have her come here, you do realize.” She pulled on her jacket and took her clutch off the dresser, “And I’m meeting her there.”

Another thing Margaery had brought up when Sansa had spent the night at her place. Looking sort-of normal, but also sort of… like she was arguing with herself. It was something hard to place, knowing how confident Margaery typically was.

It was memorable because Sansa _hadn’t_ been expecting Margaery to pick her up. But apparently – maybe – Margaery had thought about it.

Jeyne hmph’d and crossed her arms, “Fine. Be like that.”

“I will,” she murmured distractedly as she gave herself a quick look in the mirror. She looked good. Good enough to meet the Prime Minister, hopefully. “Now, I really have to go.”

Jeyne waved her off, “Shoo. Go, have a night of fancy revelry.”

“Revelry,” she echoed, shaking her head, “Bye. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”

She was nearly at the front door when she heard Jeyne call out, “Could you at least tell Olenna Tyrell that the headpiece she wore to her inauguration was banging?”

And she let the door slam behind her to put the final emphasis on her, “Never!”

By the time she arrived at the Guildhall for the party, almost an hour later, she was rushed and cursing herself out under her breath.

What would normally be a half hour commute from her apartment to the Guildhall turned out to be almost double the amount of time. Which, she really should have accounted for, given that the city’s elite and noteworthy members were pouring in for the event, let alone all of the people coming from outside of King’s Landing.

It was an event hosted by the Prime Minister; of course it was going to be highly trafficked.

She fumbled her phone out of her clutch and, well, couldn’t stop the warmth when she read the messages from Margaery that she hadn’t had time to check in her rush to arrive.

_**Margaery – 7:54PM**_  
_Your name is on the list at the door. You’ll_  
_have no trouble getting in_

_**Margaery – 8:02PM** _  
_Let me know when you arrive?_

_**Margaery – 8:21PM**  _  
_Is everything all right, darling?_

Gods, she barely held back the groan under her breath. These were the things Margaery did that made her heart skip a beat and feel so unreasonably happy.

_**Sansa – 8:25PM** _  
_I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize how crazy it_  
_was going to be to get here._

_**Sansa – 8:26PM**  
But I’m here now._

Taking a moment, clutching her phone in her hand and trying to get those feelings under control, she looked up at the building in question. The Guildhall of the Alchemists had been entirely renovated and restored, and – as far as Sansa knew – this was the very first event being held in the building since the restoration.

The museum that was to be opened on the upper floors wouldn’t even be open to the public for another six months, in the tall, breathtaking marble building.

She supposed those were the perks of being the leader of the country, though. The street was lined with private cars, and closer up near the building, she could see the flashing of cameras. And this aspect of these events was something she was less familiar with, but – she could manage it.

Starting up the sprawling staircase up to the front doors, Sansa’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. She was still a little nervous, but more excited. She’d been anticipating this night for a couple of weeks, and…

And this was the first time she’d be attending a political event such as this without any member of her family accompanying her, so perhaps that did account for some of these nerves. As she looked around, she could see men and women looking so good they nearly shined, and she could recognize many of them as some of the most prominent members in this city. In this country.

Right now? She didn’t have either of her parents with her to code her identity as Ned and Catelyn Stark’s daughter, and _that_ was an unfamiliar feeling entirely.

Here, among these people, who was she?

Before she could let herself get lost in those thoughts – which were all too similar to the ones she’d had about what she was doing post-graduation in only months – she jumped when she felt a hand skim over the back of her jacket.

And then shivered when she heard Margaery’s voice teasing in her ear, “You were taking so long I was worried you’d gotten lost.”

She spun on the step to face her, and felt her throat go dry in only moments. Margaery was wearing a white dress with an intricately embroidered, snug body, loosely falling to the ground. Her arms and shoulders were bare, save for the soft brown curls falling down.

How did she always look so _good_? It’s all Sansa can do for a few moments to let out a nearly breathless self-deprecating laugh.

“I – hi! You came outside to get me?” she cringed as soon as the words were out of her mouth – clearly that’s what she’d done, and she could feel her cheeks heat up in a blush.

Somehow, even after months, she could still make a fool of herself in front of Margaery. Whose smirk widened into a smile that she could see was genuine, even as she _swore_ there was almost a hint of a blush on Margaery’s cheeks, too.

Which seemed crazy, because Margaery didn’t blush. Plus, there was no reason to, anyway. It was probably just the fact that the air was chilly and Margaery wasn’t wearing a proper jacket.

“Well, I mean, it was taking you a bit of time. And it took you quite a bit longer than expected for you to arrive, and you’re not one to typically run late, so…” she trailed off, waving her hand a bit.

Blue eyes narrowed for a moment, taking in the more flustered than typical look on Margaery’s face, before she realized, “You were _actually_ worried about me?”

It was so odd, seeing Margaery look even a little bit flustered, but it was also so incredibly appealing and Sansa swore she could feel it all over, more than just the giddiness in her stomach. It was easy to forget, then, these worries she’d had about the night.

Because this is _it_ – she wasn’t here because of her parents but because of Margaery, who was giving her a look that made Sansa want to kiss her so very much. She could feel her lips tingle with the want, especially when her eyes caught Margaery’s somewhat bashful ones – which, was new and sort of confusing and she filed the look away to dissect later – and hold.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile, though. This small, pleased smile that Margaery brought out in her. Because Margaery was here, at an actual _event_ , for her own grandmother – for the Prime Minister – and she was thinking about her.

Margaery swayed a bit closer, her arm sliding around Sansa’s hips as she leaned in, close enough that her warm breath washed over Sansa’s cheek, and it made her shiver in contrast with the night chill, “Enough with that teasing smile, darling. _Perhaps_ I was worried about you. _Perhaps_ I just felt like coming outside.”

There was just enough space between them for their eyes to meet, and the grin on Margaery’s face was mischievous, but it was the glint in her eyes that she knew was just meant for her.

Her heart skipped a beat, though, as she thought – _this_. This was a moment that Jeyne didn’t understand.

It shattered only moments later, when a light flashed in their direction. A camera flash, she realized when it happened again, and she startled a bit backwards in surprise as she turned to face it.

Because no one had even been close to them, not that she’d noticed anyway, but only a step down was a photographer with a journalist badge hanging over his neck.

It felt like a shock to the system, that the moment they’d been having wasn’t just theirs, and the flashing continued, making her blink before she adjusted properly. By the time she did, it only seconds later, but Margaery’s hand had slid up to her waist, the touch casual and light. The look on her face was neither the confusingly bashful one nor the one that they’d been sharing in that moment, but one of those easily disarming grins.

She smiled, herself, after a moment, after her surprise settled a bit. It wasn’t her _first_ time at an event with photographers – but she did think back to the many times her parents had done much throughout her and her siblings’ childhood to shield them from this aspect of their relatively high-profile life.

“Margaery!” it wasn’t until another photographer called Margaery’s name that Sansa turned and realized – okay, well, she supposed it shouldn’t be shocking that there were a few others now facing their direction.

After all, given who Margaery was in terms of family status and her own political designs at the moment… it made sense.

It was – weird. She froze for another few moments, even as she gamely tried to keep the uncertain smile on her face. The cameras flashing and the general _sounds_ happening made everything feel a little jumbled.

Her smile became a bit easier, though, body untensing when Margaery squeezed lightly at her waist. She could feel in the touch that it was there for comfort and – it worked.

Because, no, she wasn’t used to this part, really, but – it was sort of thrilling in it’s way. In a way that made her flush a bit in excitement, her smile easing. She was here, with Margaery Tyrell, who was the most gorgeous woman she’d probably ever met, who had her arm around her and…

It just made her stomach flip.

She was still grateful, though, when Margaery started to guide them up the stairs, murmuring, “I apologize. I should have warned you it can be somewhat of a mad house.”

Even though she was still blinking away the last of the flashes still going off behind her eyes, Sansa shook her head, “No, it’s okay. Well, it did take me by surprise a bit. But it was… sort of interesting.”

Margaery lifted an eyebrow at her, and Sansa saw the small questioning smile on her face, as they entered the ornate marble doors, “Yeah?”

Sansa slid her jacket off and handed it to the attendant, and bit her lip and flushed as she looked over at Margaery, “As long as you don’t mind, um, well, then it was kind of nice.”

Especially when Margaery’s arm around her had felt warm and _safe_ , comforting in a way that made Sansa feel like if she had been packing, that Margaery would have been there for her to turn to.

The bit of nerves in her stomach buzzed there for a few moments, as Margaery had that thoughtful look that despite the fact that she’d spent months learning to read the brunette, she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“No, I don’t mind,” she answered after moments beat by, her voice soft, before she cleared her throat, “After all, you’re a brilliant and beautiful woman, Sansa. Anyone would be lucky to be associated with you.”

She registered Margaery’s hand, coaxing and warm, on her lower back as she started to guide her down the hallway, and she felt her stomach tingle with the touch. It was impossible to _not_ smile, face warm and pleasantly flushed, as they walked down the grand hall, toward the large double doors where she could hear the music.

She could hear the breathless exhilaration in her own voice, trailing off “Wow. The articles I read about the renovation didn’t even do it justice. Do you think they really have the old Alchemist scrolls on display?”

Margaery chuckled softly, before she continued leading her down the hall, “I have it on good authority that they _do_ have them, as a matter of fact.”

As they approached the doorway, she felt Margaery’s hand fall from her lower back, and she would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t _feel_ that lack of touch down to her toes. It felt inexplicably colder.

Which, she told herself, was silly. Because it wasn’t as if she could expect those touches throughout the night. It was one thing at her own family’s party, where they’d been working as a team. It was another thing entirely here, where she knew that Margaery was surrounded by more familiar faces, cultivating the same working relationships that she’d already been developing for years.

She knew that she wouldn’t be by her side all night, and enjoying that same high that she’d gotten at her family’s party; it just made sense.

She’d figured it would be a distinct possibility even before Margaery had brought it up a few days ago, when ironing out the plans for the night. And if she was disappointed, that they wouldn’t be able to work as a team again, then… she just had to deal with it.

Which, she was. She’d spent the last couple of days rationalizing why they wouldn’t network together like they had at her family’s party, when she’d _known_ Margaery had a good time during their two-woman team.

She understood. She did. After all, why would Margaery need her by her side here?

_She isn’t going to see beyond herself to see how good you are, how much you really like her, and what an amazing girlfriend you would be_ , Jeyne’s words echoed in her mind, making her stomach clench uncomfortably, and she pushed them away.

“Come on, darling,” Margaery’s voice was low, and easily pulled her from her thoughts as she tilted her head, “I’m going to introduce you to my grandmother, before I get swept up in any business talk.”

Blue eyes widened, because _that_ was an effective way to get Sansa to stop overthinking, “What? Now?”

Margaery lifted an eyebrow at her, amusement clear in her expression, “I thought you wanted to meet her?”

It was an anxious excitement that settled heavily in her stomach, “I _do_ ,” she was quick to reassure, “It’s just, well, I’m sure she’s probably busy, and has so many other people to talk to right now. I mean, the night’s only just beginning; there must be tons of people here who are vying to talk to her.”

Sansa wasn’t one to typically be nervous around politicians, around powerful people. But the Prime Minister, who also happened to be one of her idols as well as the grandmother of the woman she was so emotionally entangled with, well – she was another story.

“You’re not wrong. But you have quite the advantage over everyone else here,” she tossed a wink at her as they talked into the hall, “Me.”

It was so confusing, though. Because Margaery’s words, you have me, delighted her. But, how much of Margaery did she really have?

Still, she sent Margaery a smile, brushing her hands over her thighs, because she didn’t exactly have time to let herself wonder about that. Not when Margaery was leading her over to where Olenna Tyrell was standing, drink in hand, staring critically at an older man speaking to her.

He was one Sansa didn’t recognize, and as if reading her mind, Margaery leaned in to murmur, “Tobho Mott. His architecture company is responsible for remastering the Guildhall, and nearly half of the buildings between here and Lion Gate.” Her eyes met Sansa, twinkling with mischief, “Grandmother isn’t exactly a fan.”

Getting this seemingly inside scoop from Margaery made her grin a little more. It was a strange sort of pride; pride in how much Margaery knew, who she knew, all of the ins and outs of this world that she was determined to figure out.

And, okay, there was also something about the way in which Margaery walked confidently alongside her, as though she owned this room, that was just… exciting.

With a deep breath, she kept pace with her as they approached the most powerful woman in the world and she managed to keep her amused expression in check as Margaery swept in and easily interrupted the man with a murmur that Sansa couldn’t quite hear, but a smile so disarmingly charming that even though Sansa knew it was manufactured, she could easily get swept away in it herself.

Gods, Olenna Tyrell was standing only feet in front of her, and she wasn’t sure if the nerves were more because of that or because it was Margaery’s grandmother that she would be meeting. Margaery’s hero, really.

She knew it wasn’t anything more than a _friend_ , but still. Even as far as friends went, she wanted Margaery’s family to like her. Especially her grandmother. She wanted to be good enough.

It was kind of calming, though, to be able to watch the way Margaery’s smile went from calculatedly appealing and then melted into one of warmth. It was a subtle shift, but the admiration was clear as day in the way Margaery looked at her grandmother. It was a look that was free of all pretense, and there was no doubt to her that if there was anyone who never had to guess what Margaery was thinking, it was her grandmother.

Who was looking at Margaery with an expression that was very clearly full of pride.

Sansa could relate to that.

Heartwarming, actually, was the correct word for it all, and Sansa found herself smiling, even as nerves skittered up her spine when Margaery turned to her.

“And this is my friend, Sansa Stark,” she tilted her head a bit, inclining toward Olenna, and Sansa wanted to say that Margaery looked a little excited herself.

But she flitted her gaze from her friend to Olenna’s, and her stomach dipped again as they came face to face. She was giving her a critical look, questioning almost, the expression that had been there only moments before when she’d been looking at her granddaughter completely gone.

“Right, your friend,” Olenna muttered, cutting her gaze to Margaery. For only a moment, though, before she tilted her head and beckoned Sansa to come closer, “So, you’re the Stark girl.”

Despite the butterflies in her stomach, her hand was steady when she shook hers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Ned Stark’s oldest girl,” Olenna murmured, giving her hand a firm shake, while still giving her that considering look, “And the girl who likes my granddaughter so much, your parents invited her to that elusive party that someone such as myself doesn’t get invited to.”

Oh, Gods. Her cheeks burned, and before she could even stutter over her response, Margaery shot a _look_ at Olenna, hissing, “Grandmother!”

If anything, Olenna looked more satisfied than chastised, as she continued, “I don’t know why you’re blushing, when my granddaughter likes you enough to have attended.”

Even though she could still _feel_ that she was blushing, she had to bite her lip to attempt to stop the pleased smile from taking over. And she still wasn’t entirely certain that it worked.

If Margaery’s grandmother thought she liked her all that much… well, the butterflies in her stomach seemed to bump up just a bit, even as she relaxed a little more.

“Grandmother,” Margaery grit out again, and blue eyes flickered to her.

Which _did_ take away her smile, a bit. Because Margaery certainly wasn’t smiling; in fact, if the tense, rigid way she had her jaw clenched was any indication to how she was feeling, it was decidedly not good.

Sansa, herself, could only smile, though, because what did she say to that? To all of this? Seven hells, this was not how she ever expected this would start.

She certainly didn’t expect Olenna Tyrell’s next move to be narrowing her eyes at Sansa, as if reading her inside and out, making her feel like she was under a microscope, before turning to Margaery, “The Targaryen girl, the socialite, arrived while you were outside. You may want to talk to her before she gets swept up by someone else.”

Her tone was both firm and encouraging in a way, and it was easy for Sansa to imagine the many years of Margaery being mentored by her grandmother. Easy to imagine young and eager Margaery learning and wanting to be as revered as the woman in front of her.

The image made her smile, even as Margaery shot her a look, unreadable, before she turned back to her grandmother, her voice a bit _too_ light, “I’m sure I’ll manage later.”

Olenna gave a placid smile that Sansa could see was misleadingly layered, “You don’t want to squander your time at events like these, my darling rose. Give me a moment to get to know your friend.”

And Sansa was more than beginning to feel like she was witnessing something she wasn’t necessarily supposed to see, when the pair in front of her made and held eye contact. They didn’t say a word, but she swore there was an entire conversation in that one look. It was almost an awe-inducing mastery of silent communication, if it wasn’t making her anxious.

It was fascinating; though, Sansa was decently sure she found most things about Margaery fascinating. But as much as she wanted to see more of them – more of not only Olenna as the Prime Minister, but as this influence in Margaery’s life – she suddenly wasn’t so certain she wanted to be the sole focus of that look.

Especially when she could see that Margaery clearly didn’t want her to be here alone with her grandmother.

She couldn’t tell if she should be grateful that maybe Margaery was looking out for her or worried that Margaery had planned on introducing her to her grandmother, but didn’t want her to actually spend any time with her or talk with her.

It made for a weird feeling settle in the pit of her stomach, and she resisted the urge to shuffle her feet.

She straightened her shoulders before she cleared her throat, drawing both of their attention, “I can make myself busy, um… it’s clearly a busy night for you. The both of you. I don’t want to take up your time when there are so many other people here hoping for the same opportunity.”

She had no idea what to make of that considering gleam in Olenna’s eye, “Don’t be ridiculous. You stay. _You_ , go,” she nodded pointedly across the room, “You’ve got networking to do.”

Margaery took a deep breath, before she shook her head slightly, and looked at Sansa, “I’ll find you, later.”

The words were soft, though, imploring, despite being a statement rather than a question. That confusing but endearing Margaery softness that settled the weird feeling in her stomach.

Before she could say anything, though, Olenna sighed, “To the gods – no one is going off to war.”

Margaery set her jaw, cutting her grandmother a look, “Be nice.”

As she walked by Sansa, she squeezed her arm, and Sansa knew Olenna noticed it. She could feel her face heat up as the pit of her stomach did, even as she resolutely did not let herself turn to watch Margaery go.

It was easier than normal, when she was on the receiving end of focus from the Prime Minister.

“For such a bright woman, my granddaughter has her moments of being slow on the uptake,” Olenna muttered, affection coloring her abrasive tone.

Even so, Sansa couldn’t help but shake her head, “I think she’s brilliant.”

Sharp eyes turned to focus entirely on her, and she gulped. It was very easy to see the shrewd intelligence there, “I’m sure you do.”

Seven hells, did Sansa truly have a sign on her forehead that announced her feelings for Margaery? Because she felt like in the look Olenna Tyrell gave her that she could read everything on her mind.

She let out a small breath of relief when, instead of asking her anything about Margaery, she switched topics, “Now, given your father, your brother, and your family history, let alone your friendship with my granddaughter, can I assume you’ve designs on politics yourself?”

A scoffing laugh took her by surprise, before she could stop it, “Oh, no. Definitely not.”

“What is it that you do, then?” she asked in that straightforward way. In a way that reminded Sansa of the many times she’d watched speeches and interviews given by the woman.

She found that if she tried to forget that this was Margaery’s grandmother; if she could just let herself think of the woman in front of her as another politician, it made her tension ease.

“I’m in graduate school, for literature,” she nearly hesitated to add on, even as she squared her shoulders. She was used to people in this setting – her father and brother’s colleagues in particular – judging that. And for multiple reasons, she didn’t want this woman to think any less of her.

Instead, though, Olenna pursed her lips in thought, before giving a small nod. Reserving judgment, she thought, as the older woman asked, “And what is it that you intend to do with that?”

Okay, when she’d thought about meeting her, she hadn’t truly thought far enough in advance about what exactly she would be able to say to impress her. By this point in her own life, Olenna Tyrell was already beginning her career as a trailblazer as a woman in politics. That same ambition was a part of Margaery, too.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, she shrugged, “I’m, um leaning toward maybe going into academia. Right now, I work for Tyrion Lannister, as his TA. Getting into writing in the future would be a dream, but I know it can be a difficult field,” she hedged.

She almost wanted to bring up the internship in Volantis, but – well, she wouldn’t hear back from that for another couple of weeks. And she _still_ wasn’t sure if she would go, if she even got in, no matter how impressive it might sound.

“No doubt your mother would like to see that, then,” she nodded, decisively.

Which made Sansa’s eyebrows furrow together, “She… would want me to be happy, yes. Both of my parents would.”

Olenna narrowed her eyes, tilting her head back as she took Sansa in. And, gods, it took so much for her to not fidget, but she channeled her mother as much as she could, and held still. She lifted her chin and wondered what it was the most powerful woman in the world thought about her.

And if it would mean anything – either positively or negatively – to Margaery.

Then, Olenna shook her head slightly, chuckling in a manner that Sansa didn’t quite thing sounded like she found anything particularly funny, “I’m sure your parents would quite like for you to be happy, yes.” The words already sounded like a dismissal, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, young lady, I must make some rounds.”

Her hand was given a firm squeeze, before Olenna brushed by her, and Sansa found herself a bit flabbergasted, turning to watch her go.

Was that… had she passed? Failed?

Confused, she shook her head slightly, and made her way over to one of the refreshment tables. One near a back wall, where she could take a minute away from everything and everyone, to try and figure out what the last minutes had meant.

On one hand, Margaery had introduced her to her grandmother, who was one of – if not _the_ – most important person in her life. On the other, she had been extremely reluctant to leave them alone.

On the same hand as the first, Olenna had seemed genuinely curious about her, at least a bit, and had sort of confirmed the fact that Margaery didn’t typically introduce people to her. Confirmed that Margaery liked her a lot. On the other, she very easily brushed her off and didn’t seem to think all that much of her.

Letting out a sigh, Sansa arranged herself a small plate, and couldn’t help but look around in a bit of amazement even as she was still feeling this uncertainty.

Because there were _so many people_ , and all of them of importance. There were handfuls of people she could recognize. Politicians – some people she knew and could make conversation with, and most likely would, eventually. Some city officials that she vaguely could identify. Many businessmen and women that she could only spot by the dress and body language.

As if magnetized, she sought out Margaery. She found her easily, despite being all of the way across the room from her.

It was almost painful how beautiful she was, Sansa thought, feeling her heart beat a little faster at the way Margaery grinned, bright and engaging, at who she was talking to. A woman around her age, Daenerys Targaryen, whom Sansa had never met but had seen – as had everyone else – in papers and magazines.

The young and gorgeous socialite, full of social causes, and despite never having seen her in person before this, that wasn’t necessary to know how beautiful she was. The young and gorgeous woman who was grinning up at Margaery brightly.

Margaery laughed with her, and it wasn’t really _jealousy_ that burned low in her stomach at their exchange. Not really. Because she knew that the more people Margaery talked to, the more connections she made, it was a good thing for her. People with money and influence; Margaery needed as many of those people in her corner as she could find.

And Margaery was utterly captivating, and of course she would, and _should_ use that to her advantage whenever possible. It just made sense. Sansa couldn’t expect anyone else to not fall for everything Margaery projected the same way she had.

Worrying at her bottom lip, Sansa cut her gaze from the pair. Only to look back a few seconds later.

It wasn’t jealousy… only it was. Jealousy and something else, a little deeper.

It wasn’t like Margaery was sleeping with other women, she reminded herself. It had been _Margaery’s_ idea for them to be exclusively sleeping together in the first place, and that thought gave her an alarming feeling of satisfaction still, despite having been in place for months.

And it wasn’t as if Margaery would want to hook up with someone in this world, anyway.

Not that Sansa would have any right to care if she _did_. Because they weren’t together.

Which, hells, that thought wasn’t comforting in the least, and she barely suppressed a groan. Because it was jealousy and this damning insecurity.

_She isn’t going to see beyond herself to see how good you are, how much you really like her, and what an amazing girlfriend you would be_. She didn’t realize how tightly she’d been holding onto her plate until she looked down and saw how white her knuckles had turned.

Damn Jeyne.

Patience, she reminded herself, with a deep breath, as she turned slightly so that she was facing the terrace windows instead of the crowd. She just had to be a bit more patient with Margaery and this whole situation.

Pushing someone into something they weren’t ready for… well, when did that ever work out well? Sansa wasn’t necessarily built for that.

She didn’t have the right to be jealous, and there was no reason for it – even if Margaery’s hand had been on the ridiculously pretty, ridiculously blonde’s elbow as she nodded along with something she was saying – because, she knew their current situation, no matter how much she wanted it to be different _now_.

Brow furrowed, she stared down at the food on her plate. She just, needed a distraction from thinking about her possible failure of an interaction with the grandmother of the woman she was in love with –  

Her eyes widened at the thought, the bite of a finger sandwich she’d just taken going down the entirely wrong way, making her cough, even as her mind was running.

Was she _in_ _love_ with Margaery? She knew… gods, she knew she had feelings for her, serious feelings, but, there was a difference between having feelings and being in love.

Right?

Still coughing a bit, she rubbed her hand over her cheeks. Feelings… she’d had feelings for the men in her life before, but she knew at this point in her life that she hadn’t been in love with them, even when she’d thought she was at the time.

Suddenly, she wished she wasn’t here at all. She wished she stayed home tonight, wished she could have some time to herself to really think about everything the way she needed to.

She needed – she needed to write this out, or to lay in bed and let herself really think, or to talk it all out to decipher everything she was feeling, to pick apart all of the swarming feelings in her stomach.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but you look the way I feel, about all of this socialization tonight,” a voice came from behind her, and she jumped. Her already hard-pounding heart beating even faster.

It was an unfamiliar voice, and she very nearly missed what he’d said with the way her thoughts had been racing.

“I’m sorry,” she turned to face him, trying her best to calm herself, because this was not the time or the place to be having, um, those sort of thoughts. “Am I in your way?”

She awkwardly gestured to the food behind her, quickly moving out of the way.

“No! No, you can, uh, you don’t have to – I was just saying that you don’t seem like you’re having a particularly good time tonight,” he shook his head slightly, “Not that you don’t look nice.”

Closing her eyes tight for a second and shaking her head to try to rid herself of the thoughts – _in love, in love, in love_ , and the way her feeling was dipping in a way that she couldn’t tell was pleasant or unpleasant – she tried to make herself focus.

This was so not the time and place for this.

Blowing out a deep breath that really did nothing to calm her, she looked at him. Tall, leanly muscular, with short but slightly curling light brown hair and golden brown eyes, it was easy enough to recognize him as a Tyrell.

And the fact that he was leaning on a cane and the general awkwardness of his smile, in comparison to Margaery and Loras’s easy grins and smirks and their description of both of their other brothers – told her that he was Willas.

Not to mention the sparing but present pictures Margaery had and the way Sansa had taken them in.

“Oh.” Giving a small smile back, she shrugged, “No, I’m all right. I’ve been to events like this before.”

Perhaps not quite to this magnitude, but still. How did she explain to this man that the reason she was looking like she was freaking out was because she _was_ freaking out, about maybe, possibly, probably being in love with his sister, who she wasn’t necessarily even dating.

“Runs in the family, then?” he asked, eyebrows lifting in what appeared to be genuine interest.

Sansa nodded, then scoffed out a quiet laugh, “Not to the same scale as yours, clearly,” she offered, waving her hand out at the crowd.

He lifted his eyebrows in question.

Ugh, gods.

Of course she has this one night to meet Margaery’s family, when her friend was otherwise fairly private when it came to such personal things, and she was not only her typical somewhat embarrassingly awkward self, but she was also on the heels of knowing if she was or wasn’t in love with Margaery.

Feeling herself blush, she was seconds away from excusing herself, before he offered his hand, “Should I bother introducing myself as Willas Tyrell? You don’t _look_ like a member of the press, with the lack of a notebook or a pass.”

“No, no, I’m not. I’m just –” cutting herself off, she made herself take a deep breath, “I’m Sansa Stark. It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand as he gave her a considering look. With Margaery being in politics, Loras in the police force, their other brother, Garlan, being a firefighter, and Willas being a veterinarian, it made him the only one in the family _not_ holding a public office of some kind.

Margaery in the past months had offhandedly mentioned that he was a bit quieter than their other siblings, more reserved. But in this look where she could see him thinking, she could see it.

Then he smiled again, “Stark, yeah, I see your family resemblance,” he gestured to his own face, “I met your mother once, at a book signing. She was amazing.”

The smile on her face melted into an easier one at that, and the _in love_ chorus in her mind slowed a bit, with something else to focus on, “Yeah, she is pretty amazing.”

Willas leaned a bit into his cane as he tilted his head to the side, “So, you’re Margaery’s… friend?”

It was a questioning tone, that made her freeze. Questioning, seeming genuinely inquisitive.

Sansa paused, because she really didn’t know what he knew. Loras knew the truth of their – whatever they were. But Loras wasn’t just Margaery’s brother, but also her closest friend. There was so much of her that wanted to make an intimation that they were more.

But, she knew it wasn’t a bad thing to be known as Margaery’s friend, at any rate. They _were_ friends.

Her eyes found Margaery again easily in the crowd, and this time Margaery was in conversation with a politician Sansa vaguely recognized from around the Red Keep the few times she’d been there.

“Yes. She’s a good friend,” she nodded, before she snapped her eyes back to Willas.

Who watched her for a few measured seconds, an easy smile crossing his face, “Good. My sister could use more good friends.”

Wanting to steer clear of conversation about Margaery, before she blushed or said _something_ dumb, she cleared her throat, “So, you’re not a fan of all this? The parties and whatnot?”

He shrugged, “No, it’s not really…” he trailed off, shrugging sheepishly, “I prefer the company of animals to people, usually.”

“I understand that, sometimes,” imagining curling up with Lady and talking out all of these feelings to her best listener. “I have a dog, who lives up North with my parents. Lady. She’s listened to many quandaries.”

She very much wished she could have Lady here, with her, now, to talk out this whole maybe being really in love with Margaery thing.

“Really? I have three dogs, who have all listened to my own quandaries,” he informed her, with a small conspiratorial smile. “What breed is she?”

“She – well, hold on,” she quickly put down her plate, before reaching into her clutch to unlock her phone and pull up a picture, “Here she is,” she held out her phone, proudly.

Willas leaned in, brushing his shoulder against hers as he took a close look at her phone held in front of them, “She’s gorgeous. Is she… of northern direwolf descent?” his eyes were wide and excited as he turned to look at her.

And she laughed a bit at his eagerness, “Yeah,” she looked down at her phone fondly before tucking it away, “She’s one of six puppies that was abandoned in a shelter in my town when we were kids.”

“They’re one of the only breeds I’ve never seen brought into my clinic,” he told her, shaking his head in marvel, “I’d love to see one in person. They say their loyalty and intelligence is superior to any other.”

Sansa beamed, “It’s… well, probably true,” she couldn’t resist agreeing. “What dogs do you have?”

“Oh, they’re all a bit of this, and a bit of that; I typically rehab dogs that come into the clinic that don’t have homes. The three that stayed with me are a few who didn’t end up finding other homes,” he told her, shrugging.

It was nice, in a way, to get to know Margaery’s family. To get to know the older brother she’d mentioned in admittedly sparing stories, but with affection in her eyes. It was like learning new pieces of the puzzle as to what really made Margaery who she was.

Willas was easy for her to get along with, for his own merit, as well, as he drew out his phone and maneuvered with his cane a little closer to her, showing her the lock screen, “That’s Duncan, Jonquil, and… well, Brienne.”

A surprised laugh left her as she turned to look at him, “No! Did you really name your dog after –”

“Your mom’s books, yes,” he finished, rubbing a hand at his jaw, clearly embarrassed, “I’m, uh, a big fan.”

Grinning up at him, she nodded, “I should have gotten that from when you said you went to a book signing and all.”

“Someone had to step up and try to get Margaery to enjoy reading,” he rolled his eyes, full of warmth, “Never could get her into the romantics, though, not even when I would read them to her when she was young.”

The image of little Margaery being read to like that was impossible to resist smiling at, and she leaned in a bit to whisper, “I think it might have worked the tiniest bit.”

Because while, no, romantic tales weren’t Margaery’s favorites the way they were Sansa’s, she’d caught Margaery with big, soft eyes a few times when it had been her turn to choose a movie.

He chuckled, “So, you’re a fan, too? I’ll never get over the teasing I got from all of my siblings in spite of being the oldest for how much I enjoyed Florian and Jonquil.”

“That’s one of my favorites, too!” a favored story for her to be told growing up, and she was about to tell him so, when she felt a warm hand press lightly at the small of her back.

Her body recognized the touch easily, relaxing into it, even before she could smell Margaery’s faint, luxurious perfume. The touch was light, but she swore she could feel it all the way down to her toes – _did that go along with being in love? This electricity she’d felt with Margaery, was that part of all of it?_

Her throat went dry at the thought, before she pushed it to the back of her mind as much as she could. Which was somewhat simpler when she remembered that Margaery had very much purposefully dropped her hand from this same spot when they’d entered the room earlier.

Now… she pressed close enough that Sansa could feel her body heat right against her side, and she shivered, giving Margaery a curious look.

Margaery sighed, still not dropping her hand from Sansa’s back, “Sorry to interrupt; I just need a bit of a break from talking about what to expect from the next debate with Cersei; as if I’ll be revealing any debate secrets to these people.” She smiled at her brother, and Sansa narrowed her eyes a bit, because… it looked like something was off. She couldn’t quite name what it was, but – something.

She still felt like she was onto something when Margaery stepped forward and gave her brother a kiss on the cheek, “Willas, always lovely to see you outside of Highgarden. The one time a year that it happens,” she teased, leaning back to stand next to Sansa, her hand falling this time to her hip.

“And I have to say, I still didn’t miss it,” he tossed back, teasingly, a smile on his face.

Margaery rolled her eyes at him, “And what did I miss over here?”

Sansa couldn’t place it still – exactly what she felt was off – but she felt like Margaery was studiously avoiding her gaze, and she narrowed her eyes a bit, trying to figure it out.

Willas shrugged in response, “Nothing much. We were actually just talking about Florian and Jonquil, and how it’s apparently a mutual favorite.”

She could feel more than observe the deep breath Margaery took, before she turned to meet Sansa’s gaze, “Oh, really? I should have known the two of you and your commonalities would hit it off.”

Sansa tilted her head a bit at the smile that was maybe a fraction too tight at the edges.

Still, she smiled back, her body far too relaxed and responsive at Margaery’s closeness, “It’s actually a bit funny that you say that, because we were just talking about our dogs; you never told me Willas named a dog named after Brienne?”

Which only made Margaery’s smile look a little more strained, even as Willas gave them both an easy grin, “I will say that I was just about eaten up with jealousy when I saw that Marg had an advanced copy of the newest book.”

“Friends in high places, dear brother,” Margaery responded, before nodding over his shoulder, “Speaking of which, you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed Sansa, would you?”

He lifted an eyebrow at his sister, giving her a look, before giving an easy shrug, “Not at all. It was great to meet you.”

The hand Margaery had on her lower back was already applying a gentle pressure to lead her away, even as she looked at Willas over her shoulder, “It was nice to meet you too!”

She managed a wave again over her shoulder, nearly stumbling over being led away, despite the fact that Margaery was guiding them smoothly through the room.

Confused, though, she was unable to look away from Margaery’s profile, even as Margaery gave seemingly easy grins and nods to some people as they passed.

“Are you okay?” she couldn’t resist asking, especially as Margaery led them out of the grand room – the main party room. And then her confusion kicked into high-gear, nerves tangling in her stomach. “Don’t you have a lot of networking to do tonight?”

“The night is young,” Margaery said, taking a deep breath and shaking her head. At what, Sansa couldn’t tell, “And I need… some space.”

“With me?” she couldn’t stop the words before they escaped, cringing at herself in the darkened display hall they were walking through.

Sansa accepted the way Margaery’s fingers intertwined with her own easily, naturally, as they slid from her back, despite not expecting it, “Of course with you, darling. Who else?”

_Any number of people in the room_ , she didn’t say. _The pretty socialite who seemed to be enjoying your company_ , she held back.

Instead, she bit her lip and let herself be led down the hall. Maybe she was still confused, but why was she going to question it so much when it was _her_ Margaery wanted to take a moment with.

She trailed her eyes over the paintings on the walls for a moment, taking them in as quickly as she could as Margaery led her down into a room, their footsteps echoing in the empty hall. It didn’t hit her for another minute, and when it did, she reeled back, her voice a hissing whisper, “Are we _allowed_ to be here?”

It didn’t even open for months! This was restricted! Gods, what had Margaery been thinking leading her down here, when it could get her into so much trouble, looking bad on her campaign, and –

And Margaery chucked softly, “Darling, it’s my grandmother’s party. We can go wherever we want… as long as we’re quiet,” she threw a wink at Sansa.

Whose heart beat faster at the risk of it, and she made a point to hush back, “Right. Okay.”

“And you did say you wanted to see the old Alchemist scrolls. The last man who’d been talking to me happened to be on the board for the museum, and I may have slipped in a question about where they were displayed…”

Sansa’s jaw dropped, surprised excitement coursing through her as she squeezed Margaery’s hand, “Really?”

Margaery didn’t say anything, but squeezed her hand back with a wink.

_In love, in love, in love_ , it echoed in the back of her mind and made her heart stutter in her chest even as she shook her head to clear it. Still not the time to think of it. Not yet.

They came to a pause outside of a door a moment later, and she found herself giggling quietly as Margaery quickly dropped her hand to usher her through with a, “Shh.”

And despite the fact that they didn’t flip on the lights, and what she was seeing was only highlighted in the low lighting that reflected under the scrolls, she gaped at what was in front of her.

It was almost surreal. This entire past hour and a half felt surreal. Being here, having her photo taken with Margaery outside, meeting Olenna Tyrell. Margaery’s admittedly strange behavior when she’d sought her out while talking to Willas and then leaving the party – leaving the chance to talk with as many people as she could at an event – to culminate in bringing Sansa here, to see thousand year old relics…

Wondering if this feeling was what being in love really felt like.

Surreal.

They stood in companionable silence for a few moments, the museum around them so quiet she was certain she could hear a pin drop, before Margaery cleared her throat, “So… my brother seemed quite taken with you.”

“Willas?” she questioned, incredulously, as she turned to face her.

Margaery’s expression was back to that… that one that seemed almost strained, even as she tried to smile, “Well, Garlan is married, Loras is gay, and you were only talking to the one,” she teased.

She flushed, blue eyes rolling, “Well, even though _that_ is true, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t. We were just talking about our dogs.”

Margaery’s mouth pursed, giving Sansa the look she gave her sometimes when she felt she knew – or when she did know – more than she did, “Darling, I know my brother. He sought you out to talk; do you know how often he does that at these functions?”

“I’m going to guess not too often?” her eyebrows drew together, thinking about the way Willas had asked about her friendship with Margaery.

“Never,” Margaery confirmed, stepping closer to her. Close enough that she could feel how warm she was in the still night air, and she couldn’t stop her shiver.

It took Sansa longer than it should have, she knew, to put it together. Margaery coming to interrupt, the hand on Sansa’s back, the stilted conversation and pinched smile…

Her mouth fell open in realization, “You were jealous.”

Margaery’s advances toward her then stilled, the movement probably the most uncoordinated thing Sansa had ever seen from her. Those big, doe eyes blinked once, then twice, before Margaery seemed to force herself back at ease, “What? No.”

She’d heard Margaery reframe statements, refute points, swiftly step around what she didn’t want to discuss. She’d so very rarely even heard Margaery say anything unconvincingly.

But that? That was a _lie_ , and she had no idea if it was because Margaery couldn’t hide it or because she could read Margaery just that well.

Tilting her head to the side, she narrowed her eyes and looked at Margaery’s slightly wider than normal eyes, “You saw me talking to Willas, and knew we would get along. And you found this information out about the scrolls, because… you were jealous.”

As it clicked into place, Sansa wondered if she should feel any certain way about this. In the past, she’d had boyfriends who had been jealous; it had been frustrating and sometimes frightening.

But here was Margaery Tyrell, standing in front of her as the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman she’d ever seen, and having these _feelings_ for her – enough that she might not be jumping to tell Sansa she wanted them to be together but she didn’t want Sansa to be interested in anyone else, either – and…

And it sent a heady rush through her. Giddy, almost, but with this edge to it.

Margaery wanted her. And not just her body, but _her_ , and it settled heavily in Sansa’s stomach. She could feel it in her stomach, spreading through her veins, and she bit at her bottom lip.

And Margaery huffed out a quick breath of impatience, “No,” with a deep breath, she folded her arms, “I found out the information to show you the scrolls before seeing how good of a time you were having with Willas.”

“I’m surprised you noticed anything with me when you were talking to Daenerys Targaryen,” she muttered, the words surprising even herself, and she could feel her cheeks heat.

Embarrassing, perhaps, but it had an effect on Margaery. Instead of standing there, back stiff, her posture relaxed, that languid easiness that made the way she moved seem almost sensual, her eyebrow quirking up.

“So, I’m not the only one of us who was… jealous,” she murmured, taking a step closer to Sansa.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard, suddenly glad that Margaery had admitted to it, first. It made it easier to say, knowing it was _allowed_.

“Well. She is very pretty,” she whispered, “And, um, dedicated. Wealthy. Influential,” she listed only the highlights of what she could remember from articles she’d read about the blonde, but it was a bit difficult to think of when Margaery was so close to her now that she could feel her warmth through the material of her dress.

Not quite touching, but mere centimeters separating them.

“True,” Margaery agreed. Then she lifted her fingers and walked them over Sansa’s hip, her eyes looking down Sansa’s body and then back up, her eyes dark, “But in all honesty, there’s no one who could quite distract all of my attention from you.”

Her heart jumped, heat sliding through her at just that look. How did Margaery make her feel this _want_ with just a look, she wondered, dimly. She could feel the fingers on her hip grip just a bit, enough to steal her breath.

“Yeah?” she could hear her own breathlessness, but how could she control that when Margaery pressed even closer, her breasts pressing against Sansa’s own, her breath hot against Sansa’s jaw.

The small sound Margaery made, between a hum and a sigh, washing over her made her shiver, her hands reaching out to Margaery’s waist, stroking over the curve there that was just barely highlighted in her dress.

Margaery leaned up, her mouth stopping just a breath away from Sansa’s, and then pausing there. Breathing against Sansa’s lips, and she parted them, ducking her head just enough to try to connect their lips.

And Margaery pulled back, just a bit. Just enough to evade her kiss. Her body still pressed against Sansa’s, her hand tightening on her hip even more as her other stroked up Sansa’s bare shoulder, dragging her fingertips. The soft touch made Sansa shiver, swallowing hard.

Before she leaned in again, wanting so very much to feel Margaery’s mouth on hers. To be able to kiss her the way she’d wanted to when she’d seen her first thing, the way she always wanted to.

To be able to deepen that kiss and taste Margaery, to feel her panting into her mouth, making that damning insecurity about the what-ifs of this situation disappear. To remind herself that _this_ was only between them, to lose herself in that feeling of Margaery and the fact that she was the only one who got to know Margaery in this way right now and that it had been Margaery’s idea to make this exclusive.

Their lips barely brushed, warm and soft and fleeting, before Margaery pulled back just enough to evade her again, but pressing her body even closer.

She ached with the feeling, everything inside of her wanting to feel Margaery even closer, now.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion when Margaery pressed their foreheads together, tilting her head just enough that her bottom lip grazed Sansa’s top one, and then leaning back again when Sansa tried to connect them.

“Do you want me, darling?” Margaery’s voice dipped, to the same timbre she would have when telling Sansa what she wanted during sex, the same sound she had when the would say her name as she came.

“Margaery,” she breathed, a whimper falling from her mouth, “Kiss me.”

Instead of kissing her, though, Margaery’s hand slid, tracing her fingertip up Sansa’s neck, before her hand landed on her jaw. Margaery’s thumb, warm and soft, stroked at her jaw, rubbing over her bottom lip. The feeling sent a shudder down her spine, landing between her legs, and she could feel already how wet she was.

Her thumb rubbed against her lip again, eyes locked onto hers, “Do you want _me_?”

She wanted to tell Margaery that she had nothing and no one to be jealous of. That Sansa would be with her, would be _hers_ , if she only asked.

That she already was.

Her hands slid slowly around to meet at Margaery’s lower back, feeling the fabric of her dress bunch a bit as she went, loving the feeling of her body under her hands already. And the way Margaery’s breath stuttered as she answered softly, “You know I do.”

Margaery dragged her thumb down her lip, then slowly down her chin, and with the touch, guided Sansa’s open mouth to hers.

She’d nearly expected the kiss to be soft, with what she’d thought was vulnerability in Margaery’s voice. Instead, it was hard and ravenous. Margaery’s tongue slid against hers, eliciting a full-body shudder so hard her hands fisted in the material of Margaery’s dress, pulling her completely against her.

Teeth nipped at her tongue, then her lip, and she gasped, her hips jerking into Margaery’s. The hand on her hip slid down to her ass, gripping hard and she couldn’t stop the moan from falling from her mouth.

It only got louder when Margaery walked, forcing Sansa backwards until her back hit the wall. She just _wanted_ so badly, wanted everything Margaery had to give her, and when Margaery slid her hand between her legs, she widened them as much as she could in this dress without even thinking.

Margaery’s hand was hot as she stroked at Sansa’s thighs, just under the hem of her dress, and she could feel how her clit was pulsing already. Her head fell back against the wall on a gasp, “H-here?”

The hand on her jaw held her still, Margaery’s eyes on hers as she panted against Sansa’s neck, “Here. Now.” She lifted an eyebrow, before diving back in, her hands stilling, and she _knew_ Margaery was giving her the moment to say no.

To realize that they were at Margaery’s grandmother’s party, that in this same building right now there were hundreds of people at a party, that they were in a restricted to the public display at a museum.

Sansa had never had sex somewhere in public before. Fully clothed sex. She’d never even considered it.

But, gods, she’d never wanted someone the way she wanted Margaery. She’d never felt this deep, satisfying pull at knowing that Margaery could be _hers_ , that they would go back to that party and that no matter who was there, she was the one who had Margaery. That behind these doors that separated them from everyone else, they had this.

“Yes,” she breathed back, stroking her hands up Margaery’s back and feeling the lean muscle there through her dress.

Margaery didn’t hesitate, the hand on Sansa’s jaw tipping her head back as she dropped her mouth to Sansa’s throat, her lips sucking kisses down the expanse of her skin and everything in Sansa felt molted at the touch, her hips bucking into Margaery’s, who merely slid her hand inches up Sansa’s dress, pausing to stroke her skin.

Everywhere Margaery touched _burned_ , and she wanted her to keep going, to slide up and touch her for real.

Then she gasped, ending on a groan, when she felt Margaery bite at her neck.

It was hard, harder than Margaery’s typical small nips and light, teasing scrapes of her teeth. She shuddered with it, feeling herself soak through her underwear, arching her back hard against Margaery with it.

And then crying out again when Margaery bit again, just a little lower, sucking on the skin there.

Margaery groaned back now, and she could feel the vibration against her, feel the way Margaery scraped her teeth against her the same way she scratched her hand from Sansa’s jaw down the other side of her neck, and the dual sensations sent sparks of arousal shooting through her.

A moan left the back of her throat when she felt the backs of Margaery’s fingers brush against her underwear, and she whined when Margaery slid back down, gripping her thigh instead.

“Shh,” Margaery murmured into her neck, “We have to be quiet.”

Sansa tried to grind her hips down against Margaery’s hand, needing to feel _more_ than just that fleeting, light touch against her core. She felt desperate when Margaery instead dragged her fingers slightly down, _away_ from where she needed her.

“Please. I’ll be quiet,” she whispered, panting, blue eyes falling closed when she realized that seemed to be what Margaery had been waiting for, as she traced her knuckles back up Sansa’s thigh.

She stroked at Sansa through her underwear, the touch light, “Gods, Sansa, you’re so wet for me. I can feel you, already. You’re fucking soaked,” Margaery murmured against her neck.

Biting her lip hard to try to stop herself from making too much noise, she nodded. Her head fell back again, panting when Margaery sucked hard again at the spot on her neck, the way her fingers stroked at her at that same pace through her underwear.

“Fuck, I love this dress,” the words were said into her skin, but the roughness in Margaery’s honey-smooth voice made her shudder and jerk her hips, and she was so fucking relieved when Margaery stroked her firmly in response.

Only once, as she kissed a trail back up her throat, “I couldn’t tell you the proper way when I first saw you outside, but… fuck, Sansa. Open your legs as much as you can for me."

Sansa broke out in goosebumps, her hips grinding down, clit throbbing hard, as she did what was asked of her. Which, frustratingly, wasn’t as much as she would have liked, with the cling of her dress not being very giving.

It just made Margaery chuckle darkly against her, though, “Don’t worry, sweetling. I can make you come just like this.”

Everything felt so _hot_ , and she whined as she could feel herself starting to drip down her thigh.

She had to swallow twice in order to be able to gather herself enough to tell her, “I bought it with you in mind.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, because Margaery moaned low in her throat, pressing her lips just under Sansa’s jaw and slipping two fingers under her underwear. She stroked Sansa’s entrance, and she whimpered, because she was already _so_ –

A guttural groan fell from her throat as Margaery slipped two fingers inside of her, and she felt like she could barely catch her breath as she dug her fingers into Margaery’s back to try to ground herself.

She didn’t have a chance to feel _grounded_ , though, not when Margaery slid into her as deep as she could, pulling out and stroking over her clit, before pressing back inside. Her back arched so hard it almost hurt, and she saw sparks behind her eyelids as the fingers inside of her moved even faster.

Fast and hard, and she could dimly hear herself panting, then moaning when Margaery rubbed at her nerves with her thumb.

“M-Marg –” she cut herself off, biting her lip hard, as she forced herself to open her eyes, finding Margaery’s watching her, eyes big and dark and wanting and –

And she could feel her legs shaking, her knees feeling weak while the feeling in her stomach built and built, and Margaery fucked her faster.

Her mouth fell open on a cry as she came, Margaery’s hand quickly coming up and clamping over her mouth as the orgasm washed over her. She felt like she was completely coming apart at the seams, hips jerking uncontrollably into Margaery’s hand, unable to catch her breath, the unbelievable heat finally taking her over.

Long moments later, she leaned back against the wall, blowing out a deep breath as Margaery’s hand fell from her mouth. She whimpered, shuddering when Margaery slowly slid her fingers out from between her legs.

“Gods,” she panted out, regaining her breath. Then losing it again when Margaery sucked her wet fingers into her mouth.

The hold she had around Margaery’s waist that had gone slack with the end of her orgasm tightened, pulling Margaery forward to press their lips together again. She’d had no idea how much she could like the taste of herself on someone’s lips, before.

She’d had no idea how quickly and easily she could _want_ before, how desire could eat her up so fast, how hard she could come… she hadn’t known any of it, before Margaery. She kissed her deeper, swallowing Margaery’s quiet moan.

She wanted more of that. More of this from Margaery, more of everything. She wanted her, and no one else – for either of them.

Thinking about it, about all those small insecurities, thinking about Margaery and someone else, about how _jealousy_ had been the reason this was happening right now made her tighten her arms, and spin them.

She didn’t realize how much pressure she’d used, how hard she’d pressed Margaery into the wall, until she heard the thump of her back against the wall, felt Margaery’s breath rush out, and heard her surprised gasp as she pulled out of the kiss all registering at once.

Panting a bit, she was about to apologize, when she saw how blown Margaery’s pupils were, and the arch of her eyebrow. That _interested_ arch.

“You liked that?” she wondered, still gaining her breath.

Margaery’s eyes absolutely gleamed up at her, “Dirty talk, Sansa Stark? Tonight is full of new things,” she murmured back, before she used the hand that had slid to the back of Sansa’s neck to pull her down.

Sansa slid her lips over Margaery’s reveling in the damp softness as she dimly realized – Margaery thought _you liked that_ was dirty talk. And that she seemed to actually like it. Much like she’d possibly liked when Sansa had been… sort of… rougher?

Almost experimentally, she slid her hands down, wrapping each one around Margaery’s wrists and tugging her hands away from her body, instead holding them above them as she pressed in close enough to press Margaery hard against the wall again, not giving her anywhere to move to, grinding her hips down and into Margaery’s.

For a moment, she felt everything freeze, her heart stuttering, preparing to drop Margaery’s hands and –

Then Margaery let out a choked, surprised groan, “ _Yes_.”

“You _do_ like this, huh?” her voice was rougher than she’d expected, and the wonder she felt inside was twisting tightly with desire.

Margaery flexed her hands, not trying to really move them, though, she realized. Just _moving_ , feeling her hold on them. She nearly reflexively let go, before… she squeezed lightly instead and Margaery sucked in a breath, shuddering against her.

“You like that I’m stronger than you,” she realized aloud, and she thought about times they’d been together in the past, where Margaery had asked about her working out, where Margaery had languidly traced over her lean but still decently tones muscle.

“Fuck, Sansa,” Margaery arched as much as she could from where Sansa was pressing her hard into the wall, and she could see in the dim lighting that her cheeks were flushed. “I want you to _take_ me.”

The words hit her, hard.

Sansa had never… she’d _never_ considered something like this. But, the idea of someone as strong and utterly capable as Margaery was, wanting Sansa to take control, and wanting Sansa to be the more dominant one –

It felt like a whole new kind of trust.

It felt like an entire new door had opened to her when it came to sex, and despite just having come, hard, she felt arousal slide through her all over again. She felt hungry for Margaery, wanting to make Margaery come as hard as she had.

Wanted to give Margaery something that she wanted from Sansa.

Despite the newness of it, despite the fact that she was sure she would overthink it later, she didn’t have time to do it, now. Now when Margaery was flexing her hands again and arching her hips against Sansa’s, wanting to come. Wanting Sansa to _take her_ –

Blue eyes narrowed in determination, and she could do this. She was shocked at how much she _wanted_ to do this.

Sliding her hands from Margaery’s wrists to her hands, she tugged her from the wall and instead to the bit of the wall that had a waist-height bar attached to keep people from getting too close to the exhibits.

With a deep breath, she put Margaery’s hands behind them, having her hold onto the rail and squeezing her hands over Margaery’s to keep them there, “Here,” she whispered.

And when Margaery lifted her eyebrow in question, she gulped, questioning herself. She almost wanted to ask Margaery but… that wasn’t what they were doing.

Instead, Sansa leaned down, pressing their mouths together, sucking Margaery’s bottom lip into her mouth.

Nipping her teeth lightly in, she dipped down a couple of inches and brought her hands to the backs of Margaery’s thighs. She heard and felt Margaery groan into her mouth when she dug in her fingers in a bit more than she typically would, confidence boosting.

Boosting even higher when Margaery pressed her hips against her, jerking them unevenly, so obviously wanting.

Tightening her hold, she tugged her legs apart slightly, and then gripped and lifted. It was a thrill, holding Margaery up like this, the way she gasped into her mouth and her thighs tensed. And she’d be lying if she said this wasn’t something she’d thought about before.

Easing forward, she pressed Margaery against the wall, balanced as much as she could on the railing, as Sansa pressed forward again. Hard enough that Margaery was forced completely against the wall again, her thighs on either side of Sansa’s hips, and she slid her hands down under Margaery’s dress to stroke up her outer thighs.

Gods, Margaery’s skin was so unbelievably soft and so warm under her hands. Biting her lip, she watched through heavily lidded eyes as Margaery dropped her head back against the wall with a _thump_ as Sansa reached below her knees and gripped, pulling her legs around her waist.

Then she pushed forward, rolling her hips into Margaery’s hard, loving the way she bucked even harder against her.

Scratching her nails up Margaery’s thighs, she took in the way Margaery softly swore at the sensation, could feel the goosebumps that rushed all over her. she was thanking all of the gods that unlike her dress, Margaery’s was loose enough to be pushed up all the way to her hips, bunching it there and leaving it.

Sansa could see how wet Margaery was, see the dampness on her panties, could see the little red lines from where she’d scratched, forming on the outside of her thighs – _her marks_ – and her throat went dry.

She slid her hands around, cupping Margaery’s ass and lifting her a bit off the bannister as she pressed back in, rolling her hips again into Margaery, pressing her tightly against herself.

She could hear and feel Margaery’s gasps and broken groans against her neck, her quietly hissed out, “ _Yes. Seven hells, yes, Sansa_ ,” when she grinded hard enough into her, she could feel Margaery’s clit throb against her, even though her underwear, her legs spread perfectly.

Margaery placed disjointed, wet kisses to Sansa’s neck, and she whimpered with them, rolling her hips faster. She could feel how uneven Margaery’s breath was coming out as it washed over her neck, and knew she was going to come soon.

When she felt Margaery’s hands reach for her, grabbing at her shoulders as her thighs started to tremble, Sansa reached up, taking her hands and forcing them back down, “I said to keep them here. You’re going to come like _this_.”

Her voice was rougher than she’d ever heard it, and she was shocked at herself – where did _that_ come from? – even as she held Margaery’s hands down and ground down as hard and close as she could, keeping Margaery pressed between herself and the wall, Margaery’s legs shaking around her hips.

Margaery’s hands flexed under hers, a strangled, “Fuck,” falling from her mouth before she fell into her orgasm, her chest arching hard into Sansa’s, breath panting out in choked off whimpers.

Her body shuddered hard, rhythmically jerking against Sansa, and she pressed close, keeping Margaery held up against the wall with her body. She brought her hands to Margaery’s thighs again, this time stroking as she came down from her orgasm.

She had to take some deep breaths herself, calming the way her heart was absolutely pounding in her chest, the way her thoughts started to pick up and race.

Margaery slouched back against the wall, still breathing so hard Sansa could feel how hard her heart was beating, her hair mussed, her eyelids heavy as she looked up at Sansa.

It was such a soft look, though. Margaery giving her this control, Margaery admitting to being jealous earlier – it was –

“That was… something else,” Margaery’s voice was soft and throaty, but had that damnably teasing tone.

Because she was convinced only Margaery Tyrell could tell a woman she wanted her to fuck her, then sit there with her dress still over her hips, and be completely at ease with a teasing smirk.

She cleared her throat, “Yeah,” and she knew she was blushing so hard, it made her so grateful for the darkened lights.

“A good something else?” Margaery asked, a bit quieter, more serious, as she narrowed her eyes and looked up at Sansa, despite seeming content to remain balanced with her legs around Sansa’s waist.

Her blush deepened, stomach flipping as she bit her lip, “Um. Yeah.”

An affectionate smile teased at Margaery’s mouth, “You are something else, Sansa Stark.”

It was teasing again, but also sounded almost _reverent_ , which was probably somewhat silly to think, but…

Maybe other people would know what Margaery projected. They would know the Margaery that charmed and impressed at parties and events, who could dominate in a debate – all that were facets of who she was. But no one knew just how much was truth, just what was image, and how much deeper and more complex Margaery truly was.

No one except for her.

No one was lucky enough to see all of that, except for her. No one else got to have all of these sides of Margaery coming together to form a whole picture. She got to see it all.

The tough Margaery, the enigmatic Margaery, the sexy Margaery, the vulnerable Margaery, the needy Margaery, the brilliant Margaery, the soft Margaery.

Knowing that, made her chest feel so warm, so – unlike anything she’d ever felt. Something completely overwhelming, but calming, in a way. A way that made her want to stroke back the tousled curls of Margaery’s hair and kiss her forehead and lean into her and just _know_ that everything was good.

Oh.

_Oh_.

That… was it.

_In love, in love, in love_.

There was no maybe, possibly, probably about it, she realized. It was – real, here and now, and filling her up and she inhaled sharply at it.

Margaery, who lifted her eyebrows at her in question, “What is it?”

Sansa froze.

She shouldn’t say anything. She should not say anything, at all, and she knew it. It was not the right time, it was entirely the wrong situation, she’d hardly processed it. They weren’t really _together_ , not girlfriends – yet? – and things were still confusing.

Still, she didn’t know quite what to say, “I…” _I love you_.

Margaery tilted her head, the amused expression on her face quickly getting more concerned than anything.

She took a deep breath, stalling to figure out what to say, then completely freezing, when they both heard a sound coming from the large, echoing hall outside of this particular exhibit hall.

Not just any sound, but footsteps, walking quickly, sounding _sure_ , and getting louder. Coming toward them.

As if exploding into motion, Sansa let Margaery’s legs down, and jumped back from her so fast she nearly tripped over her heels, and she started tugging her dress into place as fast as she could, panic making her movements jerky, her hands shaking out of her control.

Margaery had tugged her dress back down and was combing her fingers through her hair – thankfully it had been done into artfully tousled curls at the start of the night – and they both came to a heart-stopping pause when the footsteps came to right outside of the door.

Margaery moved in what must have been a flash, gripping Sansa’s arm and pushing her back in front of the scrolls, before hastily dropping her hand and stepping a good arm’s length away from her, also staring up at the scrolls as if in deep interest, just in time for the door to swing open.

Sansa could swear her heart was going to pound out of her chest at _getting caught_ , even if they didn’t actually get caught – gods, she nearly felt her heart absolutely stop at the idea of how this could look for Margaery, who was here professionally…

“Ah, have I finally found them?” the voice made Sansa’s stomach curl.

Of course, out of all people, it was Petyr Baelish. She hadn’t seen him earlier in the room, but there had been hundreds of people there, and she supposed it wasn’t necessarily shocking. He was involved in many big businesses in King’s Landing.

And what did he _mean_ by that?

Despite the door having opened, despite him having spoken, she couldn’t move from where she was, facing the scrolls, wide-eyed and nervous.

Thankfully, Margaery was somehow a miracle, and her posture wasn’t jerky or panicked at all as she turned, giving him a questioning glance. A glance that seemed casual, “Oh, were you looking for the scrolls, too? Sansa and I were dying to see them.”

How did she act so normal? Sansa felt like her heart was beating in her throat – just a minute ago, she’d had Margaery pressed against the wall, and now…

Baelish was quiet for a moment, before he scoffed, “Of course I was looking for the scrolls. I just went on quite a little journey searching different exhibit halls for them.”

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to turn slowly, and try to smile, even though it might have looked more like a nervous grimace, “They’re here. And, um, legible.”

She couldn’t even dare look at Margaery for fear of blushing darker than her hair.

Baelish gave her that _look_ that he so often gave her, the one that made her skin crawl, with a slow smile, “Isn’t that just lovely? And speaking of lovely, I was quite surprised to see you here tonight, Sansa.” He ran his eyes down her, making her feel even more sick, before he flicked his gaze to Margaery, “And you appear to be having quite the evening.”

Oh, Gods.

“It’s quite exciting to be able to see something like this in a private showing,” he concluded, gesturing to the scrolls behind Sansa.

She was never prouder of herself than she was at that moment, that she didn’t stammer as she nodded, “Right, yes. The scrolls are incredible. And, you know, it’s not every night you meet the Prime Minister, too.”

He _hmm’_ d, “I would say so, indeed,” he slid his eyes over her again, and she crossed her arms in front of herself.

She was ridiculously calmed by the way Margaery stepped closer, then brushed by her, standing somewhat in front of her, with her eyes narrowed, “And are you enjoying your evening, Mr. Baelish?”

Her voice was a masterful combination of seemingly genuine but also with a firm edge that Sansa adored.

Baelish lifted his eyebrows, scratching at his chin, “Not as much as some, but yes, indeed. I wish I hadn’t wasted so much time trying to find these scrolls. But at least I’m here now.”

“Lovely. Well, Sansa and I will make our exit, so that you can properly enjoy these scrolls you’ve taken such an interest in,” Margaery told him, that firm tone in place, and she gave Sansa a look over her shoulder, “Come on, let’s get back to the party. I have it on good authority that desserts will be put out soon.”

She waited for a moment, and Sansa realized she wanted her to walk in front of her. Despite not quite knowing why, she quickly walked by Margaery, and then by Baelish, keeping as much distance as she could between them. She could feel how closely Margaery was following her.

“Enjoy your evening,” he called from behind them.

“Yes, you too,” Margaery called back, her tone entirely ingenuine now, and not even caring to disguise it.

As much as Sansa wanted to get away as quickly as possible, she forced herself to go slowly, breathing deeply, until she rounded the corner at the opposite end of the hallway.

And then she completely deflated, her limbs feeling like jelly with the residual nerves.

Margaery threw another look down the hall, suspicion written all over her face, before she seemed satisfied that he wasn’t behind them. Her hands came to her hips, and she blew out her own deep breath, shaking her head in disgust, “That man is absolutely vile. And the way he looked at you? I don’t even feel comfortable leaving you alone in the same room with him for a second.”

As the nerves started to subside, Sansa was able to send Margaery a little smile. “I appreciate that.” Before she bit her lip, “Do you think he was really looking for the scrolls?”

Margaery huffed out a breath, “Absolutely not.” She closed her eyes tightly, combing her fingers through her hair, “But, that’s all he’s getting.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought, but Sansa knew right now wouldn’t be a good time to try to press for what she was thinking of.

Instead, she pressed a hand to her stomach and made herself calm down. No one had walked in on their semi-public sex. Margaery seemed to be… okay, if intensely in thought, about it all. The awkwardness of it was over.

She tentatively reached out to draw her hand down Margaery’s arm to get her attention. Margaery shook her head slightly, but didn’t pull back from her touch, and she counted that as a victory.

“Back to the party?” she asked, feeling anxious about possibly having another interaction with Baelish if he came back down the hall, “Is there actually dessert?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

She wasn’t sure it worked, until the side of Margaery’s mouth ticked up a bit, “There truly is.” Before she took a step, though, she looked back around them as if checking a perimeter, before she leaned in and whispered, “But the real _dessert_ will commence at my place, later,” she shot her a wink, and then lead the way down the hallway, falling easily into her typical strut, her shoulders looking a little tenser than usual.

Sansa watched her go, conflicting feelings warring in her stomach. A pleased one, at the implication of spending the night with Margaery - which she hadn't known if she could expect after their time in the exhibit hall - and an awful feeling of being unsettled.

That was the woman she was in love with.

Gods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts, feelings, and opinions! They really mean the world to me :) 
> 
> Thank you for continuing on this journey, also, despite how long it can take me to update. I'm really hoping to finish strong in the next few chapters. Thank you so, so much for reading!


	20. The Thrill of It All

The morning of – and night before – Margaery’s second debate with Cersei went vastly differently than the first debate.

The night before her first debate with Cersei a month and a half ago, she’d hardly gotten any sleep, her stomach had been in knots from an uncharacteristic and uncomfortable bout of nerves acting up, as it was going to be the first televised debate of her career.

Plus, there had been that whole matter of realizing that she had _feelings_ for Sansa and being entirely unsure about how to deal with them. That had involved the week of trying to take advantage of Sansa being in the North with her family and trying to use the distance to put space between them.

Everything inside of her had felt so tightly wound, it had been both highly stressful and incredibly miserable. Until post-debate, when she’d overall dominated, relaxed and celebrated the victory with Renly and Loras, and then – in her tipsy state – been unable to deny herself from Sansa.

For this second debate, everything leading up to it was vastly different.

For starters, this time she was only very slightly nervous; after having emerged from the first debate with Cersei as the clear winner and with some preliminary numbers in from polling already that put her ahead, she felt some room to take this on with a clear, relatively anxiety-free head.

It was more of a relief than she could properly say, and she wanted to remain in this headspace.

Then there was the fact that, well, she certainly wasn’t denying herself Sansa’s presence leading up to this debate.

Considering that it was only nine in the morning and she and Sansa were both sitting at her kitchen table.

“Are you sure you don’t want to practice again?” Sansa offered, blue eyes bright and wondering, and Margaery lifted her eyebrow at her.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you enjoyed engaging in a little debate,” she shot back, unable to stop her smirk. “Even when kicked your nice little butt.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, huffing out a breath, “I gave you a run for your money on the last one we did.”

“You… did,” she acknowledged, warmly. It was true; Sansa _had_ given her a run for her money. Perhaps not for the reason she thought, but it was true nonetheless.

And, Margaery couldn’t imagine anyone in her life that was willing to practice-debate with her for over three hours – including anyone in her family – from all different angles and points of view.

No, that was a Sansa trait, through and through. Sansa who had come through with study methods and practice methods for this debate for the last week, who seemed to have endless patience with Margaery.

Sansa bit her lip, looking at Margaery from where she sat adjacent to her, the glow of her laptop on the table in front of her amidst the sea of Margaery’s notes illuminating her skin, “I just, I want to be useful.”

It was impossible not to smile at her, even as she rolled her eyes, “Darling, you told me just an hour ago when we woke up that you had a paper to finish. You work on that; you’ve already done enough. Besides, I need to leave soon for my meeting with my team.”

Sansa nodded, her eyes flickering down to her screen, before back to Margaery, “Don’t forget about that trade policy bit that you thought of last night, for the potential rebuttal.”

Margaery tapped her fingers softly against the cool ceramic of her near empty coffee mug, humming in acknowledgement as she scanned her eyes over the notes in front of her. They’d all been taken from her debate file – the physical copy, though she had two backups – from her campaign materials, and they outlined every foreseeable topic that could come up in a political debate.

Her stances and notes on everything from foreign policy to healthcare reform to school bullying, laid out in succinct bullet points. It had actually been Sansa’s idea, before even the first debate, to lay out her thoughts in this physical written form, to review and use them in practice debates.

Now, with the debate to take place in less than twelve hours, Margaery couldn’t imagine how she could possibly be more prepared. She knew she could talk circles around all of the topics that she’d made her own pointed interests throughout the campaign, and she’d spent a marginal amount of time following the first debate working on any topic that could come up as a weaker subject, annotating and strengthening topics after knowing firsthand what to expect.

Which was a good thing, of course.

However. It did leave her open to some slight… distraction. And distraction when Sansa was around was already alarmingly simple to fall into.

That somehow unsettling and comfortable warmth sat heavy in her stomach, as she tapped her index finger against one of the notes – all conveniently organized by category – right over the pretty, neatly scrawled handwriting, “It seems _someone_ wrote it in for me.”

The blush on Sansa cheeks was more than endearing as she shrunk back into her chair, “Well, your notes were sitting out there with me while I made coffee when you were getting ready,” she muttered softly, intently staring at her screen now and resolutely not looking at Margaery.

Who looked back at her own notes, shaking her head with that little smile that Sansa brought out for her still tugging damningly at her lips.

Sansa had written than into her notes, and a few more small things that they’d ended up bringing up in conversation the night before. Things that Margaery hadn’t forgotten and would have written in herself, but still. The issue here was that Sansa had done it, generously and unthinkingly.

Sansa had written in Margaery’s debate notes. It was something that would drive her insane if anyone else did it. The last time someone had touched her notes for anything without her explicit permission to do so had been in high school, when Loras had written something – and it hadn’t even been a doodle or nonsense – in her notebook for the debate team.

She hadn’t spoken to him for nearly a week.

And here she was, _smiling_ at Sansa’s handwriting along with her own on her _campaign notes_.

Gods. That alone was enough to wipe the smile from her face as she stared down at the writing. There was a small smiley face at the bottom. It should agitate her, and it did the complete opposite.

Things like that were happening with increasing frequency, she was finding.

Before she’d realized just how intense these feelings were, before the holidays, Sansa would sleep over on the nights they had sex and did not dawdle in her apartment in the morning. But, after the holiday party…

After _that_ , she’d been making miscalculation and mistake, one after another, last night being just the most recent one.

Post New Year’s Eve, she’d resolved to get herself together; to pull everything back under her control. Just because she couldn’t control having feelings, didn’t mean she couldn’t control her actions.

She’d even had a two and a half week break from actually seeing Sansa, while Sansa had spent the remainder of her winter holiday with her parents, to convince herself of the many ways she could dial back and rekindle some of their early-month friendship-only hangouts.

It seemed easy enough in theory.

Then, well, Sansa had come to see her when she’d returned to King’s Landing, and drinking her in in-person had been like some strange sort of rejuvenation. All Sansa had done was shake her hair out from the rain, and give Margaery one of those sheepish smiles before hugging her and whispering, “I’ve missed you,” into her ear, and suddenly Margaery was asking her to spend the night.

And soon after that had been her grandmother’s party, where she had _resolutely_ told herself that it was in no way going to be anything but strictly-friendly. After all, they were at an extremely public venue, packed to the brim with prominent and powerful members of society, all of whom Margaery needed to have good relationships with.

Her will-power had been tested when Sansa had shown up in her ridiculously sexy dress, but she’d been around many very sexy women in her life, and had been able to go about her typical business…

For all of a half hour before she’d looked over to see Sansa and Willas laughing together and having a grand time. She’d managed to upkeep her conversation, but her eyes and mind strayed to where they stood together.

And the thing was, she _knew_ Willas and Sansa would get along very well. Theoretically, she’d figured that out months and months ago. But seeing her brother coming out of his self-imposed solitary confinement, speaking to someone who wasn’t a family member or longtime friend at a big party, and giving Sansa that look?

Margaery knew all of her brothers very well. She, unlike adorably oblivious at that moment in time Sansa, knew that the look Willas had been eyeing Sansa up with was one of interest; unlike her, her oldest brother had no poker face.

So. She’d lasted for all of less than an hour before she’d been unable to control herself and pulled Sansa aside to fuck her in the scroll room. Which, for the record, she had been intending to show Sansa, platonically, later in the evening.

Then there had been the time last week that she’d insisted they hang out at Sansa’s apartment. Confusion had been written all over Sansa’s face when she’d tilted her head up at Margaery and mused, “Jeyne’s not working… she’ll be there tonight.”

Margaery had smiled and nodded, “I’m your friend, Jeyne is your friend; we can’t always be at odds.”

In truth, she’d insisted they spend time at Sansa’s purposefully, fully knowing that Jeyne would be there. Knowing that Jeyne would be throwing her barely-disguised looks of distrust. It wasn’t as though Margaery _enjoyed_ being on the receiving end of the looks, but she figured that it would be enough to ensure that she would certainly not be spending the night with Sansa.

She found that she’d been wrong a few hours after that, and had underestimated the appeal of challenging Sansa to be quiet enough that they didn’t disturb Jeyne while Margaery ate her out until Sansa was reduced to full-body shaking underneath her. And hadn’t even thought about the potential of Sansa, her voice raspy and breathless, demanding Margaery sit on her face. Which was new and it ended up being Margaery herself who hadn’t been able to stop herself from making too loud a noise.

Embarrassing. Well, it would have been, if Margaery was actually embarrassed about having ridiculously good sex and if she’d had the presence of mind at the time to feel anything other than ridiculously satisfied, and comfortable as she’d collapsed onto Sansa’s bed, with Sansa’s arm around her – at that point, a familiar and comfortable weight.

It was frustrating, challenging, scary, and, well, a whole host of other emotions that ate away at her in uncertainty when she was not with Sansa. Then… they melted into the back of her mind when they were together.

At the base of it all, was that Margaery didn’t like this version of herself. This version of herself that was unsure about all these feelings and was wanting and needy. This version of herself that knew when something was a bad idea and still did it anyway.

The version of herself that she’d had no idea who existed before that always seemed to come out when Sansa was near.

Which led her to last night, the latest in her misadventures.

It had started out just fine. Good, even. She’d invited Sansa over, taking her up on her always open-ended offer to help her debate. Despite the fact that she had faux-debated with Sansa multiple times already, but – irrelevant.

She’d been so set on it being them as _just friends_ , because she couldn’t remember a night of them being just friends in months, and it was becoming distressingly necessary to remind herself that they were, indeed, just friends.

Margaery had always taken responsibility for her own actions, she never looked for the easier way out. But in a way, it would be so much easier for her if she could blame the fact that they’d ended up having sex and then cuddling and sleeping together on Sansa.

But Sansa, sweet Sansa, was her typical self. With no expectations, with a bright smile, and fully intent on just _hanging out_ , whatever that entailed. No, it was entirely Margaery’s own stupid fault.

They’d been having a good time, very strictly-friendly. Not even sitting close enough to one another to touch, chatting a bit, going over Margaery’s debate topics…

Then she’d accidentally looked up just at a moment where Sansa looked particularly adorable, flipping her hair over her shoulder and crinkling her eyebrows as she’d read over some campaign notes. And even though Margaery had really only intended on taking a moment’s break to shuffle her notes over and start reviewing a new topic, she’d trailed her eyes over Sansa’s jaw, down her neck…

Settling right where the hickey she’d given Sansa almost two weeks ago at her grandmother’s party had only just faded out of sight.

Margaery had never cared for _marking_ her partners before. Her sexual escapades were extremely short-lived and meaningless and all for the relief, the pleasure. And for as much experience as she had, and while she wouldn’t call herself sexually inhibited in the least… she’d never actually let herself actually lose control with someone.

And she’d certainly never felt a visceral, primal pleasure in seeing the mark she’d left on anyone. It hadn’t even crossed her mind as something she thought she might like. And yet, there they were.

She’d been extremely lucky that she’d actually taken a breath and a moment to take a good look at Sansa before they’d returned to her grandmother’s party and had helped apply some concealer to her neck.

But in private, it thrilled Margaery in that way she loved and hated. And seeing that it had faded completely made her want to mark Sansa all over again.

So. She had. A few times, in places far less obvious because that had been a pain in Sansa’s ass to cover. Until they’d collapsed in her bed, utterly exhausted and relaxed.

And now, here they were. Sansa in her glasses, with her hair pulled over her shoulder in one of the braids she did that Margaery knew was just to get her hair out of her way, but ended up looking cute as all seven hells. She was wearing yoga pants and a simple, white sweater that was _this_ close to falling off of one of her shoulders.

Comfortable and casual, as were most of the outfits Sansa wore the mornings after she spent the night.

“Why are you staring? Do I have something on my face?” Sansa’s voice, playful but also genuinely asking, pulled her from her stare.

She quickly met the bright blue eyes that were looking at her from above Sansa’s laptop, and her heart skipped a beat at the fact that she’d been _caught_ at being entirely unsubtle. Still, she quirked an eyebrow, “Nothing’s on your face. I just enjoy your concentration face,” she smoothed over with a smile, before she mimicked the face.

She wouldn’t necessarily call it a lie; she did quite enjoy the way Sansa’s face scrunched up a bit in thought when she was thinking, as she just had been.

Sansa scoffed, even her cheeks turned pink, “I don’t make that face.”

“You do, actually. It’s cute,” she informed her.

“Not all of us can be basically models at all times,” Sansa murmured, embarrassed mirth in her voice as she ducked her head a bit behind her laptop, “ _Your_ concentration face is just that little way you move your mouth to the side.”

In moments like this, it was almost… jarring how well Sansa knew her. How simple it was.

She was somewhat relieved that Sansa’s phone alerted her to a text, breaking their eye contact completely.

Because she wasn’t sure what made her stomach twist harder; the inherent domesticity of it all – a word Margaery resolutely did not want to apply to their not-relationship – or the fact that she knew she would miss these mornings when she inevitably had to put an end to their “benefits” aspect.

She tried to take comfort from the fact that they would still be friends after. That they had to be, because at the very basis of whatever was between them, they had that.

Shaking her head slightly, she finished the remainder of her coffee and forced herself to look back down at her notes – regardless of the fact that she had to figure out this rather delicate situation, she had to surmount one hurdle at a time.

First, the debate. Second, figuring out how to end the sex-part of this friendship with the minimal amount of feelings being damaged. If only that was as simple as it seemed like it should be.

Sansa cleared her throat before asking, “Um, what are you plans tonight? After the debate?” her voice a mix between curiosity and hopefulness, she thought.

“Dinner with my grandmother and Loras, and then possibly out with Loras and Renly for a bit. Nothing too big,” she watched the way Sansa fidgeted a bit with her phone, before she nodded and Margaery tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Well, Mya wanted to know if I wanted to go out with her later. It’s this thing she likes to do once the semester starts to pick up, and – anyway. It wouldn’t be until after watching your debate, of course! I wouldn’t miss that,” she added quickly, before clearing her throat, “I just. Well, after your last debate, you, uh, called me,” she blushed so deeply Margaery swore she could feel the warmth of her cheeks from where she sat.

And she very nearly blushed herself. Not because she had any qualms or regrets about their FaceTime-sex. But because, even though she admittedly may have been a bit drunk, she remembers with perfect clarity how much she’d wanted Sansa to be there with her.

Simultaneously not her finest moment but also a damn fine moment.

Sansa continued to ramble, her hands fidgeting above her keyboard, “And, I know that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to want to celebrate with me this time. Plus, these debates are a big thing. So, if you had wanted to do something after, that would be – I would be there. I could reschedule with Mya.”

Those big blue eyes finally met hers again, wide and imploring, her cheeks still flushed.

The thing was, Margaery knew she would want to see Sansa tonight. That, assuming things went well and that she felt anything like the high she’d felt last time, she’d very possibly be feeling that same craving for Sansa to be there to celebrate with.

And that if things didn’t go well – not an option she was allowing to be a true possibility, really, but she was nothing if not a realist – she knew that Sansa’s presence would most likely be calming.

Which was why she forced a smile, shaking her head, only pausing for a second before answering, “No, no. You should go out with Mya. It’ll be fun, and we’ll see each other soon enough.”

She maintained the smile, even as her stomach twisted because a small part of her still wanted to invite Sansa to watch the actual debate, let alone to see her afterwards, waiting until Sansa reluctantly nodded and texted Mya back.

This was for the best. Spending more nights apart was a _good_ thing, she reminded herself. More time to get everything more planned out, more focused.

“I should probably get going to my meeting,” she cleared her throat, carefully gathering up her notes.

Hopefully her meeting would be a welcome distraction to focus on the debate priority. She just had to image it would be much easier to do without Sansa sitting right next to her.

Sansa nodded quickly, “Right, yes. I just have to save something, then I can finish this at home.”

“Don’t be silly,” she found herself saying, surprised by her own words for a moment, before she just went with it; it was logical, after all, and she waved off Sansa’s questioning look, “You can finish up here. I mean, you’re already working on it and have everything set up here. Just lock up when you leave.”

She just wasn’t sure if she could even convince herself that having the woman she had feelings for, who she’d had sex with, then slept with, then had woken up with, who made her coffee just the way she liked it, staying in her apartment even after she’d left for the day wasn’t a whole new _something_.

It made her hands want to shake, and she tightened them around the file she was holding as she stood up, trying and failing to not notice the warm smile on Sansa’s face.

“Good luck! Not that you need it. I’ll be watching,” Sansa grinned up at her.

And she didn’t let herself give into the desire to bend down and kiss Sansa goodbye, in a manner that she was becoming accustomed to. Because it truly was just so simple to brush her lips against hers, taking the kiss that she knew would be offered. Taking comfort in it. Warmth.

No, she stayed strong against that.

But she did pause, unable to stop herself from meeting Sansa’s smile with one of her own, stroking her thumb over the soft skin of Sansa’s jaw. A sigh left her, because it was just so easy… if this was all there was to think about.

It was wrong to want more of this, she knew. But she craved it.

She let her hand linger longer than she should have, dropping it with a quiet hum, “Thank you, darling.”

She found out hours later that her meeting was only somewhat of a distraction from her thoughts of Sansa.

Which was concerning, for many reasons. Because the debate was so utterly and completely important. Because she wanted to focus on her meeting. Because Margaery had never before in her life been unable to give her attention to something she wanted to give her attention to.

And yet, that was just how she found herself, even without Sansa actually being physically present.

Granted, she’d been focused for the majority of it. She’d walked into the building with the competitive burning feeling in the pit of her stomach that she was comfortable with, in preparation for the day ahead.

Plus, the meeting was more perfunctory than anything else. Reviewing the overall campaign so far, as there was barely a month left until the election. Picking through all of the details as a team, making sure everyone was updated and on the same page.

But the fact of the matter was that Margaery _wanted_ to be giving everything her team was discussing her full attention, even if some of it was the same old information. She’d never in her life struggled to keep her focus when she wanted to.

As it was, the pictures that had been pinned up to the whiteboard on a nice little display about an hour ago had easily captured her attention multiple times since it had been put out; it was incredibly frustrating.

The picture display that Willam, as her PR specialist, had revealed with a flourish during his designated point-time. Every picture, he’d explained, that had been snapped of her by any media source since the last debate.

She knew he was thorough in matters like this, and she appreciated that. He kept track of every time her name and face appeared in any newspaper or magazine or media outlet, and – as he’d said when he’d set the display up in their meeting room – she was “really getting out there” among the public, and becoming more recognizable.

A good thing, yes. Something she’d wanted, of course.

She just… she hadn’t realized exactly how often she’d been “getting out there” with Sansa until it was here, staring her in the face. She’d known, clearly, about the amount of time they spent together, but they had no idea that it was so – public.

She’d known about the picture that was placed in the forefront of the display, glossy and professional, of the two of them from the night of her grandmother’s party. That picture had been in the paper the very morning after.

But the others – the one with her and Sansa walking down the steps of the Keep together last week when Sansa had come to bring her dinner, and Margaery had walked her out. The one from a couple of days ago, when they’d gotten a coffee together. The one that had to have been taken and released from someone at the Stark party on New Year’s Eve, of the two of them talking animatedly with someone who was off-camera…

There were just so many.

It wasn’t as though they were ever doing anything inappropriate in them. They were friends, she repeated to herself, despite how lacking the word seemed as of the past couple of months.

And they appeared as such, even if maybe they were standing a little too close, even if their looks were a little too _something more_ , even in the snap of a picture.

Gods, though. She hadn’t ever been able to see her own face when she looked at Sansa, and to have it staring back at her from the eye of the media; it was unsettling to say the very least.

Hells, she’d known she had feelings for Sansa, but how could she have known how damn obvious about it she could be?

It was more than unsettling; it was nerve-wracking. It was irritating. She should be better than that. She could never have predicted that this – having feelings for a woman, for Sansa – of all things, would have been when her poker face would let her down so completely.  

She’d already been so conflicted about their entire situation for the last month that she’d been more distracted and thought more about their relationship than she’d ever imagined she would. Sansa took up her thoughts entirely more than Margaery believed anyone should have the right to, without her permission.

The last thing she needed on the day of a debate with Cersei was to see that not only was it an internal problem, but was externally visible, too.

_Keep it together_ , she commanded herself, straightening her spine. Perhaps she couldn’t control everything, which was something she could only fantasize about, and not even her own thoughts at times, as of late. But she could control focusing as much as she could on the meeting.

On her debate, to be more exact. Because that did need her attention. This was her future at stake – plus, a quick look at her watch told her that the meeting was nearly over, anyway.

Shaking her hair back, Margaery let out a quiet sigh and looked across the table to Willam, who ticked his pen along the side of his paper as he reviewed, “So, in summation: after tonight, followed by your interview tomorrow – assuming all goes as expected, of course – we should see consistent polling numbers. If not a slight increase.”

It worked to take a bit of a weight off of her shoulders. Because, distraction and inner-conflict be damned, so far, she’d been consistently polling ahead of Cersei. A small smirk tugged at her lips, and she nodded at him before turning to Meredyth Crane, who slid the page full of statistics about the social medias and online trackers that she’d set up in Margaery’s name across the table to her.

“Your accounts and the searches on your name and platforms are getting a lot more traffic than a typical small council election would. A significant uptick in searches in the last few weeks; perhaps because of the light being shone on the debate tonight?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at Margaery over her laptop.

Margaery pursed her lips in thought. More interest in this election, in her, was something they’d been hoping for and planning for, with their increased amount of publicity through her election; it was, after all, the foundation for her future career being built.

Her eyes flickered to the pictures of herself and Sansa; for as much as she wanted to take complete ownership of the reason behind this increased interest, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Which was frustrating in and of itself. Gods, she hated any facet of _not knowing_.

Renly cleared his throat, calling their attention, “I think it stands to reason that given your family history, as well as Cersei’s, there was already a relatively higher interest in the election from the beginning. Not to mention your publicity; a young, attractive woman, intelligent and outspoken.”

She couldn’t help the grin on her face even as she rolled her eyes, “You’re already my friend and will always have a place on my team, Renly, no need to flatter me.”

It earned a small titter from both Meredyth and Willam, and the eyeroll she expected from Renly, and she relaxed a bit more from the levity.

“Political rivalry certainly has something to do with the increase in interest,” Desmond spoke quietly from where he sat slightly apart from the others at the table, and Margaery turned to him, attentive.

She trusted everyone on her team, of course, she wouldn’t have allowed anyone to work closely with her if she didn’t. But Desmond was – for all intents and purposes – on loan from her grandmother’s staff, someone who’d worked with her grandmother for nearly Margaery’s entire life.

Given how much of his job involved keeping an eye and ear right on the pulse of secrets, Margaery knew how valuable he was. He was someone who had seen and foretold handfuls of political scandal unfold days or weeks before anything happened publicly, and that was only the aspects that she knew about. And she would never delude herself into thinking that politics was not a dirty game at times.

He tapped his fingers at the table, inclining his head, “Political rivalry, family history. The fact that Tyrell and Lannister are both names of relative public knowledge and interest. The fact that two younger, attractive people are running against each other, are all factors. And, of course, the commentary that has been made by Cersei about you, particularly in the last few weeks.”

The levity was easily gone, and Margaery leaned back in her chair with a nod.

The comments Cersei had been making as their second debate neared hadn’t been anything too far out of what was expected. More of the same that she’d been saying throughout the beginning months of the election.

“Her remarks about my age, experience, and supposed nepotism have been par for the course,” she asserted, and had to pause and resolutely _not_ let her eyes flicker to the pictures of herself and Sansa, “Her comments about my love life, slightly less expected.”

Her voice remained steady, even though the first time Cersei had made a veiled comment about her personal life last week in an interview had made Margaery’s heart race.

Willam, the last member of her team that she’d disclosed her sexuality to and that had only happened a month ago, scoffed, “She’s tried to make an intimation about your love life, but it was pathetic. A weak reach. After all, the only photos you’ve been seen in – in any recent past – have been family members, coworkers, or Sansa Stark,” he gestured to his board of pictures.

Margaery swallowed back any anxieties that wanted to come to surface, clearing her throat, before blowing out a breath, “That is all… true.”

“The searches on your name and hits on any of your social medias went up after that interview, it’s true,” Meredyth hazarded, and Margaery turned to make eye contact with her, “But in all realism, your friendship with the daughter of a well-liked and well-respected politician – who also happens to be young, attractive, and bright – is only more good press.”

She gave Margaery a small, comforting smile. And Margaery took it as best as she could, taking a deep breath and nodding, “Thank you.”

“It may be good press,” Desmond agreed, “For now,” he added, quietly, and Margaery’s gaze snapped to him. “But I would advise you be a bit more careful. As of right now, there isn’t much of a speculation about your lack of a romantic life. However, Cersei’s comments have started a quiet buzz on the periphery. And I’m positive that it’ll only get louder as you become more prominent, if there’s anything to hang onto,” he nodded at the pictures of her and Sansa.

Margaery’s throat seemed to seize for a moment as complete silence took over the conference room. She could feel the stares of Renly, Willam, and Meredyth, but she only tilted her chin up and maintained eye contact with Desmond.

“I know,” she admitted, and her voice was steady and firm.

She could see in the firm set of his jaw that he wasn’t finished, even before he continued to speak, “As you well know, I’m not here as an advisor, or to give any opinion on how to live your life. My capacity here is to make sure you’re aware that this could cause a big reaction, and that however you plan to address your personal life in the future, we want to be ahead of anything, before it gets ahead of us.”

It wasn’t anything Margaery didn’t already know, hadn’t already told herself. And she knew that Desmond really wasn’t voicing an opinion of any sort, but that he was someone who was all about facts, and that this was a fact. Something she’d told herself repeatedly.

So she gave a curt nod, “I’m well aware.”

It was just that there was this feeling inside of her that sharply revolted against being told, in no uncertain terms, that she had to end it with Sansa.

“This have, in the past, been several failed political careers that trace back to the root of matters that pertain to personal matters –”

“I do not need a history lesson,” she interrupted, shorter than she would have preferred, but she was more than aware of the very small pool of out – or outed – politicians, whose careers were severely limited because of their sexuality. “And there is nothing to get ahead of,” she added, holding her head up, even though she felt the offset twinge of guilt at saying that, still able to see pictures of herself and Sansa in the corner of her view.

She used the tone that Loras had in the past referred to her as scary authoritarian voice, something she generally tried to stay away from, but it worked, as Desmond took a breath and offered a nod, “As long as you have all of the sides.”

“I’m well aware of the situation,” she arched an eyebrow, blowing out a breath, before she made eye contact with the other members of her team. Willam and Meredyth, who truly didn’t know anything about her relationship with Sansa aside from actual friendship, didn’t give looks of sympathy, which was good; the last thing Margaery wanted for choosing her path was pity.

Renly, however, gave her a long, imploring look. A look as though he knew just what she was feeling despite never discussing it. A look that spoke of putting his own possible political wants on the backburner and instead doing a job he did love but a job that was safe from repercussions from speculation about his sexuality, that cut off farther ambitions at the knees.

“I’m handling everything that needs to be handled,” she reassured her team as much as herself.

Because she was. Handling everything. Just fine.

Perhaps she was overly concerned about the _how_ and _when_ and _I don’t want to_ when it came to figuring out the delicate balance of everything with Sansa, but it meant nothing that couldn’t all be managed in due time.

“For now, we need to focus on the debate.”

~/~/~

**_Sansa – 6:42PM_**     
_You did amazing last time against Cersei! You’re_  
 _going to be incredible!_   

**_Sansa – 6:44PM_**     
_Because you know everything you could possibly_  
 _be asked to discuss. You’re brilliant!_   

**_Sansa – 6:45PM_**     
_And I’m already cheering you on from here. …_  
 _sorry for blowing up your phone._

_**Margaery – 6:53PM**_  
_I think I’m used to you blowing up my phone_  
 _by now. Thank you, sweet Sansa. Show time!_

~/~/~

All of those worries, doubts, anxieties, and niggling fears that refused to leave her faded into the background during the debate.

It was a relief, that this burning, eager, competitive edge sluiced through everything else. That in spite of anything else on her mind, she could still do _this_.

The look on Cersei’s face when the audience applauded her answer notably more when discussing the fact that she already had plans in motion for building more community and connected initiatives between regions, based off of her previous successful programs in King’s Landing.

The tightening of the older woman’s jaw when asked about the current small council members, the plans already in motion, and how they would personally work within the existing system, showing that Cersei had clearly been not been anticipating a question of that sort. Margaery hadn’t been either, necessarily, however she was most more knowledgeable about the current plans and members than Cersei possibly could have been.

The way her eyes set in a near-permanent glare at Margaery when the moderator asked one of the final questions to her, “Ms. Tyrell – throughout the campaign so far, I believe one of the biggest concerns that has been raised about you, is your age and experience. It’s been something Ms. Lannister has mentioned several times. Is there an official comment you’d like to make about it?”

She met Cersei’s eyes, maintaining her polite but firm semi-smile, “This isn’t something I necessarily address directly, typically, as I do like for my work thus far to speak for itself, as well as the initiatives I’ve already detailed stand for themselves.” She let a beat go by, before she could feel her smile turn a bit feral, “I may have admittedly not as extensive of a work history as some of my colleagues, but I daresay, it’s better than having none.”

“Ms. Lannister, anything you’d like to say to that?”

The tightness in Cersei’s smile was evident and Margaery reveled in it, “Yes, thank you. My _opponent_ speaks of my lack of professional work history, but also forgets that I was married to a politician for nearly two decades. That my father was a politician my entire life; this is far from a new playing field for me. Beyond that, I have far more _life experience_ at large. Of course, Ms. Tyrell, your youthful ambition is… admirable,” the tone of her voice dripped with a disdain that spoke of the farthest thing from admiration, “But you have much to experience in life to come.”

There was a small tension in the room in the audience, and she felt it building as people turned their attention back to her.

Margaery inhaled, that fire burning even brighter inside of her stomach, “I can say with utter clarity that I’ve spent my entire adult life making strides to make this country a better place, so your comments on my ambitions are entirely accurate. Yet, for all of your life experience, where has _your_ ambition been?”

There was a smattering of applause, before the muscle in Cersei’s cheek twitched just a bit, “I have been wearing many hats over the years. As I’m sure so many can attest to, life experience is something that cannot be overlooked when it comes to political standing. I’ve been a wife, a mother; a widow.”

Margaery refrained from rolling her eyes, of course, but she wanted to. This was something she’d been expecting from Cersei from the beginning – trying to relate to, what her team referred to, as “her target audience.”

She stayed attuned to Cersei’s body language with every word she spoke, and she could tell something was coming even before Cersei stood just a bit straighter and there was the faintest bit of a gleam in her eyes, as she continued, “There are universal experiences that you cannot even imagine relating to, as your own personal life has been a bit of a source of speculation in the past few weeks.”

_By you_ , Margaery added silently, even as her heart seemed to sink to her stomach for just a moment, before she forcefully pushed it aside. This was a Cersei tactic, nothing more.

“My personal life experiences, as a public figure, are open to public speculation. There is no one on my romantic horizons at the moment. I’m sure as anyone who had any interest in such speculation could attest, there is very little to quarrel over,” she tipped up the corners of her mouth in a little smile, knowing that even if there were pictures of Sansa and herself around, it didn’t change the fact that there was nothing out there suggesting anything else, “I can assure you that I know how to prioritize.”

Cersei lifted an eyebrow, “It could appear that way. Or it could appear as though one is working a little too hard to have any possible _scandal_ overlooked. After all, the last time a politician had such a dry public image was Jon Connington.”

The sinking feeling in her stomach was back with the smug look on Cersei’s face, as the older woman leaned back as though she _knew_ she just knocked Margaery’s breath out. Mentioning a politician whose career was derailed by a sex scandal a handful of years ago… drawing a parallel back to Margaery.

Gods.

Her hand tightened nearly imperceptively against the podium for only a second before she caught herself, taking a deep breath against the lights that seemed glaringly bright all of the sudden to center herself.

Fucking Cersei Lannister.

She met her gaze head-on, merely quirking an eyebrow. Despite the digs Cersei had taken at her throughout the election, thus far she’d remained free from naming anything explicitly about Margaery’s romantic or sexual life. She had to believe it was due to the fact that Margaery _knew_ she could only know the rumor about her personal life… and because Cersei wasn’t without her own past _rumors_ about her sex life.

She’d be willing to bet that certain rumors about relations with a brother and questioning the parentage of children would ring more bells than her own. And she’d thought it was somewhat of an unspoken agreement that they were bringing neither piece of potential gossip up for campaign fodder.

With a purposefully friendly smile, she shook her head, “As I’m sure you’re fully aware, I have no scandals to hide. Though, I’m not entirely sure bringing scandals into the conversation would make for a conversation you would want.”

The bit of a teasing tone was purposeful, to make it light enough that the audience tittered in amusement. But she saw the way Cersei inhaled a sharp breath, feeling victorious when that haughty mask slipped a bit.

It made her feel like she was back and steady on two feet, “To conclude my answer to the proposed question; I view my youth as an advantage in this current atmosphere, rather than a hindrance, as my opponent seems to believe. The fact of the matter is that the amount of people in my generation who are politically knowledgeable and passionate about the future of this country is at an all-time high. Despite that, the amount of people from that demographic are extremely low. I may be young, but youth also speaks to innovation and change, to progression. The voice of my generation is the voice of the future of this country, and it deserves to be heard.”

She knew easily in the deafening applause that erupted that the feeling of victory coursing through her wasn’t unfounded, and this time the smile on her face was wholly genuine.

The feeling thrummed through her through the remaining minutes of debate, into the short meet-and-greet afterwards, and followed her backstage, through her dressing room makeup removal and changing of clothes.

It quieted from a roar to a buzz, but it was impossible to not be giddy from it, to feel lighter. Because she had officially completed two out of the three debates of the first campaign she’d ever been in, and she’d – unofficially – won them both.

The big, celebratory message from Sansa with too many emojis – so ridiculous, but they made her want to sweep Sansa into her arms – made her only feel that much brighter.

And the other messages from family and friends and acquaintances, of course, those were nice, too.

She answered the sharp knock on her door with an unstoppable grin, believing it to be Renly, who had been in the audience and was supposed to drive her to her dinner.

The grin didn’t entirely fall off of her face when she opened the door to see Cersei standing there instead, but her spirits did admittedly dip. Just a fraction, though, as she quirked an eyebrow, “Did you come to congratulate me? I have to say, this is unexpected.”

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, before she gave her an alarmingly cold smile, “Oh, please. As if congratulations are in order.”

The smile did completely fall then, much of the pretense gone. Then again, when was there much pretense with Cersei? “You coming to congratulate me would be less unexpected than your, say, bringing up scandals at the end of the debate. You were making quite the reach.” Margaery bit back a sigh; the last thing she wanted was to be late to dinner with her grandmother was to be late because of a conversation with Cersei. “What do you want?”

“A reach?” Cersei frowned, faux-contemplatively, completely ignoring her question to get to the point, “Not a reach in the least; quite contrary, you placed that topic right in my lap.”

Margaery’s eyes narrowed, all of the previous buzz disappearing dizzyingly quickly, “You can comb through my entire professional history, every public word I’ve spoken –”

Cersei waved her hand, imperiously cutting her off, “Oh, my apologies. I should have said this: you placed this topic right in my lap, in the shape of a young woman by the name of Sansa Stark.”

Her stomach clenched so hard, lurched so uncomfortably, that it took all of her self-control not to outwardly show it. Her face was impassive, though, and she lifted an eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware that having a friend was a scandal.”

Cersei’s smile was slow and lethal, condescending and victorious in one, and the combination was one of the most unsettling things Margaery had ever seen, “I wasn’t aware that adult friendships involved all night sleepovers and such close touches.”

The words only built on the sickeningly unfamiliar fear and foreboding lodged at the pit of her stomach. But she forced as patronizing a smile as she could onto her face, trying to be as aloof as possible as she tried to calm any overzealous thoughts that were jumping to conclusions. Cersei Lannister was nothing if not a manipulator; this was a scare tactic, she told herself.

“You’re right. I’m quite sure _you_ wouldn’t realize anything that an actual friendship entails.”

… still. Scare tactic or no, it was so truly disconcerting, right to the bone, the way Cersei was smiling easily at her. That her eyes hadn’t sharpened in that agitated way. That her jaw hadn’t set.

It was the way all of those little things mingled together that told Margaery that Cersei was still playing a little game with her.

She hated it. Seven hells, how did the victory go so fast from that to this? To her nerves feeling so rattled?

The smile on her face seemed to sharpen, as she tapped her fingers against her hip, “That picture, the one in the King’s Landing Report, the morning after your grandmother’s little party. With you two standing on the steps outside of the Guildhall, your arm around her waist – painted quite the picture,” she mused, tilting her head a bit. “I’m quite sure there are very few friends who would look so off-guardedly… intimate.”

Margaery took as deep a breath as she could, even as her thoughts seemed to be going in a circle of _fuck, fuck, fuck_. She did her best to look composed, though, and she shrugged, “A politician, good friends with the daughter of another politician.” It meant good things for her campaign, she reminded herself from the meeting earlier, “Not quite the scandal you’re looking for there. I’m afraid you’ll have to figure something else out.”

The gleam in Cersei’s eyes as she leaned forward made her teeth clench in anxiety and annoyance even before she spoke, “But the scandal that comes along with fucking that same-sex _good friend_ is absolutely the kind of scandal that, I daresay, ruins campaigns… and careers.”

It was as though all of the air had left her lungs, and she couldn’t help but lose her cool enough that she _had_ to look beyond Cersei to make sure there was no one else in the hall who could be hearing this.

It was more relieving than she would ever care to admit that there was no one else around, and she drew back to meet Cersei’s gaze, drawing her back straight up, “And I daresay I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Now Cersei’s smile was positively glowing, “You don’t?” She brought a hand up, glibly tapping at her chin for a moment, and Margaery’s hand tightened where it still remained on the doorknob, “I believe the scroll room at the Guildhall would dare to disagree.”

For a long moment, all Margaery could hear was the blood rushing in her ears as she felt like her heart dropped right out of her chest.

She knew.

It was one thing to know that there was a quiet speculation, to know there were rumors whispering around in the far periphery. Things that were ultimately too quiet and removed to have real consequences. It was quite another to have it confronted _by name_ right to her face.

Despite maintaining her composure as much as she could, she could _feel_ the blood drain from her cheeks, even as all of the tension inside of her made her spine snap so straight it hurt, “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her voice was as offhand as she could make it, but she was still painfully aware that it wasn’t much. Because Cersei referencing a specific, public dalliance she’d had with Sansa… it was the closest Margaery could ever remember to completely losing her composure.

“But I do.” All pretense was gone now, her voice sharp, “You see, your grandmother might be the Prime Minister, and you may think that gives you all of the connections you need. But I also have friends, who know many, many things. Friends who see many things. Who _hear_ many things.”

It was the absolute knowing tone that made Margaery’s stomach cramp, even as she outwardly only managed to clench her jaw when it clicked together.

Petyr fucking Baelish.

Not that she’d thought he had just been oh-so-curious about the scrolls at the Guildhall that night, she wasn’t naïve. But she… they’d _finished_ before he had been close enough to them. She was sure of it.

And because she knew at this point that flat-out denial truly was pointless and Margaery didn’t play a fools game, she blew out her breath as slowly as she could, flexing the hand Cersei couldn’t see that was still behind the door as an outlet for this overwhelming feeling that was threatening to make her dizzy.

She narrowed her eyes, cutting to the point as she muttered, “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Seven hells, what had she been thinking that night? Margaery had never before in her life felt like she wanted to slap herself in the face. She’d never made such an unthinking, emotionally steeped choice that could truly mess something up; in fact, she’d spent years deliberately avoiding situations like that.

Why had she done that? Oh, because she’d been jealous as she’d ever been of her own brother for talking to Sansa and having so much in common with her, and apparently it had been that easy for all of her carefully deliberated, _smart_ plans to be shot to nothing.

For her to forget that one lapse in judgment could ruin her.

Cersei having that information was really a nightmare come true, and the utter dread that clawed at her made her feel sick.

“Just one little shred of proof to _any_ reputable media outlet and it seems your chances at this election – and future ones – will depend on far more than a good debate,” Cersei finished, and Margaery could only describe the look on her face as gleefully hateful.

It was as through there were alarms ringing in Margaery’s mind, ones that she hadn’t expected to sound for years to come, until she was way farther along in her career. Until she was more established, had more figured out.

It was the closest to a panic she’d ever come, and she had to force herself to take a deep breath. Then another, and ignore the look on Cersei’s face, as she steeled herself.

Panic was not an option for her. It just wasn’t; the only option was to try to find a solution –

The realization hit her, and the relief with it was so fast she almost got a headrush, “Just one little shred of proof could be devastating,” she acknowledged, finally able to take the breath that she needed, “But you don’t have any evidence of my hypothetical affairs.”

Cersei’s eyes finally narrowed in that way, the one that spoke of losing an upper hand, “Quite fascinating that you’re so sure.”

Flexing her hand one last time on the doorknob, Margaery let it go; it was no time for anything that could make her look weak, especially when she finally found proper footing in what was sort of feeling like an ambush.

Drawing up her height, she quirked her lips into a smirk that, thankfully, didn’t feel forced, as she quickly aligned the last few weeks of events, “The party happened nearly three weeks ago. If you had any evidence at all, it would have been to every news source the next day. You have nothing.”

Because Cersei Lannister did not play a carefully calculated game, she was not playing this for the long-game. There was little subtlety in her tactics; there was no way any substantial _proof_ of Margaery’s sexuality, of her… affair with Sansa, was in Cersei’s hands, without her having already outed it.

She held onto that thought and let it breathe the life back into her.

Cersei, however, didn’t look fazed or as disappointed as Margaery would have thought she should, and instead she shrugged before she crossed her arms, “Perhaps I don’t.”

“You don’t. So, it appears this conversation is much like many endeavors you take on; improperly planned with unreliable follow through,” she shot, and took a pleasure in the way Cersei’s eyes flashed in agitation.

Agitation but not backing down.

“Perhaps I have no proof _yet_ ,” she allowed, lifting an eyebrow, “From what I’ve put together, this little romance of yours is still young. It’s only been a few months, and already you’ve jeopardized so much. I don’t want to play my hand too much,” the flash of her smile made Margaery’s stomach cramp again, “But I feel more than comfortable knowing that I have intel on handfuls of mornings with young Ms. Stark staying the night at your home. Pictures of her leaving in the early morning, in different clothes than ones she’s arrived in, with quite the glow about her.”

That steady footing she’d thought she’d gained slipped from under her.

“Dozens of moments where you’ve been far too close for merely _friends_ , including a lovely photo of you trying her ice cream while wearing what I believe is her sweater, if my sources are correct. Somewhat blurry, as it’s through that love bay window, but it’s still quite the darling image, if you ever want a copy.”

Margaery swallowed hard, and for a moment, she swore she wasn’t breathing. She swore she could feel stomach bile burning the back of her throat at not only the fact that Cersei knew _everything_ , but the fact that they’d undeniably been followed. Repeatedly and often.

These weren’t moments that had been in the public eye, ones she’d had up on the board at her meeting earlier. These were private, detailed, purposeful photos. Taken in moments that she’d thought were only between herself and Sansa had been spied on and exploited. The photo with the ice cream had been in Sansa’s apartment, for the sake of the gods.

And Cersei continued on, more joyful with every word, “And if rumor is to be believed, you’ve even shared some moments at the Stark party that you were so conspicuously invited to. Perhaps I have not found irrefutable proof that could sink a political career. Yet.”

“And you won’t,” her voice was lower than she’d intended, rough with the way her throat felt too tight with all of this worry and anger and – and too much tangling together.

“It also begs the question… I do hope your poor Sansa is ready to take this on her shoulders as well; she’s not quite as versed in masks as you are,” the smug tone was too much, and –

She snapped her eyes to Cersei’s, anger flaring, “Leave Sansa out of this.”

The older woman shrugged, “Me? You brought her into it.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she had to fold her arms to stop her hands from shaking as her nerves felt so irritatingly, scarily jangled. The back of her throat felt scalded with her words, “It must be so lonely to have so very little in your life that you find all of your focus on mine. So absolutely sad that the only way you know you would have any chance in seven hells winning an election against me is by underhanded methods. I have news for you, Lannister: it will be a cold day in _every_ hell before anyone allows you to democratically rise to any high ruling position in this country. The fact that you had to resort to round the clock surveillance on me just for a scrap of blackmail to use to be able to win is incredibly telling, and pathetic, and very you.”

She could tell her words affected her in the way Cersei swallowed, then glared, but Margaery got no sense of enjoyment out of it this time. It was impossible, especially as Cersei hissed back, “Yes, I would feel threatened if I were you, too. After all; it’s only a matter of time before everything inevitably _comes out_.”

It was all Margaery could do to draw in a deep breath, glaring at Cersei through it, even as her heart skipped at the beat at the very deliberate phrasing, “If this is all you had to discuss with me, I think we’re done.”

“Mm,” Cersei hummed, running her gaze up and down Margaery, who had to call on every ounce of strength to remain not looking slouched or defeated or nervous, “Yes, you do have quite the victory to celebrate, don’t you?”

She kept the door open, making sure to watch until Cersei was at the end of the hallway… just in case, before shutting it quietly, restraining herself from slamming it as much as she wanted to. Her arms were shaking with the want all of this… this fear and anger and frustration and guilt and –

Gritting her teeth, she pressed her forehead against the door, coaching herself on taking deep breaths, in a manner which she hadn’t had to utilize since she was a teenager. Clenching her hands into fists, she took in a breath and held it, trying to calm the racing of her heart. And repeated.

It took too long to get her strength back, because she’d never felt a fear like that before. A fear where she could _see_ how it would all play out if Cersei really did have proof of her arrangement with Sansa. Where she could see the downfall of her career before it really even began, and the ripple effects of it through her life.

Everything in her wanted to rage, wanted to rave about the fact that Cersei had just gone too far – which, she had. That she was resorting to ugly, pathetic tactics – which, she was. That she was wrong, that she wouldn’t end up finding evidence of herself and Sansa engaging in their relationship – and that was where she got tripped up.

Because she wasn’t wrong. Not in the least.

And it chilled her to the bone.

Just over an hour later found her walking down the hallway to her apartment. In truth, the second to last thing she wanted after her interaction with Cersei was to be out, dining with her grandmother and talking about strategy for the rest of the campaign, pretending to feel victorious when she was feeling far from it. And the true last place she wanted to be, was out with Loras and Renly “celebrating.”

As if she could celebrate when she kept hearing the conversation over and over in her head, hearing the barely veiled threats, thinking about that abject fear that had never before felt so real.

The fact was that she’d been putting it off for weeks now, and she had never been someone who puts things off. Her parents and her nanny would always say she walked before she could crawl – there was a video to prove it. Yet, she’d been finding every reason to put off ending things with Sansa.

Those excuses had run out, officially, and she had thought that the last few weeks of indecision and delicious torture of getting even closer with Sansa even though theoretically she knew it wouldn’t last, would be the worst feeling.

But this, feeling like her stomach was never going to settle from the knots it was tied in at the prospect of knowing she _had_ to break it off – soon – was worse.

Gods, but she hated it.

She’d maintained her composure as best she could the entire trip home, keeping the smile on her face for anyone who she might run into, but as she headed in the direction of her door, she let her shoulders slump.

Just this once, she supposed, she could let herself drop her perfect posture before being in the privacy of her own home. Just this once, because tonight, she couldn’t help it.

She needed a bath and maybe to rewatch highlights from her debate to pick herself up and keep her _focused_ , and… eventually… to figure out how she was going to go about this whole conversation with –

“Sansa?” the name left her in a whisper, far quieter and more reverent than she would have ever intended, “What are you doing here?”

It was all so incredibly messed up, she realized, as she felt her heart thud in her chest, painfully heavy. Because seeing Sansa usually, somehow, made her feel _soothed_. Like she forgot all of the reasons she shouldn’t feel soothed.

But here, now, seeing Sansa standing there in front of her door, all that long, red hair falling over her black jacket, with her nose tinged adorably pink from the slight chill outside – it made her nervous, in a way. In the way that she didn’t think these feelings could be soothed away anymore, and she – quite confusingly – wished they could.

Sansa’s face brightened, blossoming into one of her wide, adorable smiles, “Well, first of all, you were incredible tonight! Just like I knew you would be. And secondly,” she bit her lip, smile dimming as she tilted her head and gave Margaery a questioning look, “Um, Loras messaged me? Which was sort of weird. But he said that you canceled on all your plans, and he wanted to know if you were going out with me,” she tangled her fingers together in front of her, “And, you know, I knew you weren’t. So. I got a little concerned, too. Now that I can see you, I’m even more concerned,” Sansa finished her ramble, and it was something that normally made Margaery smile.

But now, as Sansa stepped toward her, Margaery shook her head, biting hard at her bottom lip. Damn Loras.

“No, darli – Sansa. I’m…” she blew out a sigh, shaking back her curls, “It’s just been a longer day than expected.”

Sansa frowned, taking a step closer, and Margaery both hated and loved that she knew that Sansa was seeing everything no one else could possibly read on her face, “Do you want me to make you a cup of tea or something?”

What she wanted, was for everything to be easier. What she wanted, was for herself to be able to live two lives. What she wanted was for something like her sexuality to not matter. What she wanted was for her past self to have _listened_ to her first instinct, the night Sansa proposed having sex, that it would be a dangerous mistake.

“No, thanks,” she held up her hand, before Sansa could walk any closer, her head snapped up, and she quickly looked around them, narrowing her eyes. Her stomach lurched again, in irritation and feeling like she’d been invaded, as she thought about Cersei informing her about all of the moments she was aware of between her and Sansa.

“We should go inside,” she offered, and knew her voice sounded just a bit off to Sansa as it did to herself.

She hated it.

And perhaps she was now just being paranoid, but she couldn’t help but feel more secure as she shut the door behind them. She hated that, too, and she had to take a deep breath to try to center herself.

She didn’t think she’d ever felt this off-kilter. Not even when she’d realized that she’d had feelings for Sansa. That had been an entirely different kind of equilibrium, and the falling into feelings was apparently a lot easier than…this.

Taking a deep breath, she tore her gaze away from the redhead, because it _hurt_ looking at her, as Sansa gave her another smile, this time a little tentative, “Well, if you are up for company, I have notes on the debate. I was going to type them up and offer to go over them with you the next time we hung out, so you could keep them in your file. But I have them saved in my phone if you want to just have some to read over.”

She was so eager and sweet, and…

And Margaery smiled at her, despite herself, her chest _aching_ , because Sansa was so… perfect. Of course, she had notes on Margaery’s debate. Of course, she wanted to talk about them and share knowledge with her, just like Margaery would want to do. Just like Margaery wanted to do.

In an ideal world, they could curl up together and do that.

This wasn’t an ideal world, though, and she could feel the smile on her face slip as she looked down at her hands, walking farther into the kitchen, as if it would give her any new perspective.

Sansa followed, “Are you okay?” she asked, a concerned frown on her face, “I don’t want to push you or anything but I’m… last debate, you were, um, acting a lot differently than this.”

Last debate hadn’t ended with Cersei coming _this close_ to publicly being able to out her and ruin everything. Last debate hadn’t ended with Cersei threatening to lay in wait until Margaery’s next miscalculation, that could end with not only Margaery’s consequences, but also in Sansa’s outing to the entire world, when she wasn’t even yet out to her entire family.

Of course, Sansa was worried. And the earnestness of it all made Margaery want to cry, and she – she didn’t know what was wrong with her. This being one step away from tears, this aching in her chest, this wasn’t normal.

_You are just bringing an end to the sex_ , she reminded herself. She was _not_ losing Sansa from her life. There was a difference. And she could live with that.

She took a deep breath and gathered all of the courage she could with that thought, “Sansa, I think we need to talk. Not about the debate or anything like that, just –”

She has to take a deep breath. She’d seen so many movies about romance. From cheesy and trashy ones, to classics, and these moments, she’d always thought it was an exaggeration of how hard it was. She’d spent her whole life thinking that those moments were dramatized.

But finding these words, the words to end… this? Gods, Margaery always knew what to say, but it was evading her now.

Rip off the bandaid, she told herself, and resolutely kept her eyes on Sansa, who’s eyes were narrowed in confusion, “I’ve been doing some thinking, and I think that it’s getting to be the time that time that we… rethink this.”

“This?” Sansa’s hands fidgeted in front of her, and there was a flash of _something_ across her face that Margaery couldn’t quite recognize with how fast it disappeared, before Sansa rocked back and forth on her heels, “I – I’ve kind of been thinking about it, too. I think. Are we both talking, uh, about the same this?”

Sansa had been thinking about it, too?

It hurt. Which was hypocritical and unfair, and also sort of a relief. That perhaps she was making everything more complicated than it had to be.

Licking her lips, she caught Sansa’s eyes with her own, “Our arrangement,” she clarified, clearing her throat. Twice, because it felt like it was tightening too fast, too painfully. She remembered Sansa coming to stand in her very kitchen months ago, proposing _rules_ to their friends with benefits situation, as if it was a business arrangement.

The memory made her almost want to smile.

At the very least, it made it easier for her to rush out the words, “I think we should forgo the benefits part of our friendship.”

There. There. She said it. She said it, and she – well, her hands were shaking, and the backs of her eyes burned, but it was out there. And it was for the best, for everyone, she reminded herself, and forced herself to keep going, “After all, I’m only going to get busier and deeper into the political world and I don’t think there’s anything else I could possibly teach you about sex, at this point.”

She tried to smirk, tried to make the words come out as playful, to lighten the moment.

But that was wrong, so wrong, because there were so many things she wanted to do with Sansa, do to Sansa, and the thought of Sansa exploring that all with someone else threatened to make her sick.

She pushed it away, and watched Sansa’s face.

From the furrowing of her eyebrows in confusion, to the realization, to the crestfallen look, and every step of it made her stomach sink even more.

Blue eyes filled with tears, her voice dropping to a strangled whisper, “What… did I do wrong?”

Margaery’s stomach completely bottomed out on her, the change throwing her off balance as she shook her head, “Nothing. You didn’t do anything wrong, Sansa. Ever, not between us.”

There was a begging sound in her voice that she couldn’t have gotten rid of even if she wanted to.

“Well, something must have gone wrong,” Sansa insisted, her voice breaking, and with it, the last shred Margaery was holding onto that was keeping everything inside of her as stable as she could possibly be.

_Yes_! Margaery’s brain screamed. _You kiss me hello and goodbye and you make me miss you and want to cuddle, and that wasn’t supposed to happen!_

“No,” was all that came out, and she was doing everything she could to cling to the steadiness, to make her voice firm, where it wanted so badly to shake, along with the scratchiness in her throat. It wasn’t working, though, not when Margaery’s heart was pounding in her ears, and it was almost like having an out of body experience.

“Then… why?” Sansa asked, her voice thick with tears that tore Margaery apart, almost as much as seeing them shining in her eyes.

And she didn’t know what to say, her mouth opening and no words coming out. Because we’re one small step away from everything falling apart? _Because I want you so much it’s terrifying and life changing and I want you but I also want my future and I can’t have both?_ “It’s just… time,” was what came out eventually.

Sansa’s face crumbled completely and the vice around Margaery’s heart tightened that much more, as she shook her head, “What does that even mean? Are you – are you tired of having sex with me?”

“No!” Hells, the last thing she wanted Sansa to think was that. She hated so vehemently every single person in Sansa’s past who ever put those insecurities in her head, and she both loathed and was terrified that she was one of them, “Absolutely not. You’re so…” beautiful. Sexy. Incredible. Brilliant.

There were so many words, and none of them made it easier, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and cupping Sansa’s jaw in her hands. The so-familiar warm, soft skin under her fingertips, and she stroked in circles with her thumbs trying to commit the feeling to memory, even as she promised, “That’s not it, Sansa, I promise you.”

This was a mistake, she realized, her hands on Sansa. Because she didn’t want to move them. She didn’t want – the deep, shuddering breath she took in almost broke on a cry that she kept in, with everything she had.

She was going to miss _touching_ Sansa, so freely. Fuck. She hadn’t even realized it until now, and it felt like everything was moving too fast.

“Then, why?” Sansa repeated, her words a cracked whisper, and those tears fell down her cheeks, as she made no move to pull away from Margaery’s hold.

Which only made her heart thud even heavier, duller, in her chest. She felt like she was only a moment away from dissolving herself, and she pulled her hands away.

Instead, she drew her hands through her own hair but they still felt _empty_ , “I think it should end before this gets any more serious.” The truth came out, and she could barely speak in more than a whisper, one that scraped her throat on the way out, “I think we both know that we’ve been blurring our lines a bit,” what an understatement, “And if we want our friendship to be intact, we need to end it now.”

It was good and logical and it made sense and Margaery was proud of herself for managing to get it out without breaking when faced with Sansa’s tears and her own nauseous feeling.

_It’s for the best, she reminded herself, as forcefully as she could. The pain is fleeting and it’ll be over and things will be okay._

Her mantra could only work the slightest bit to loosen the tightness in her chest, even though she had to believe in it. She had to.

Especially as Sansa was trying to wipe them away quickly, giving Margaery a jerky nod, “I – yeah.” A sob broke, even as Sansa pressed her lips together to try to break it, “You’re right.”

It was a desperation that overtook her, because she… she _needed Sansa_. Maybe it wouldn’t be romantic or sexual or intimate in that way, but, “Please, Sansa, I don’t want to lose you. I can’t –” she cut herself off, swallowing hard, “You are so important to me. More important to me than almost anyone else in my life, and I want to keep you – keep you close,” she stumbled.

“No, yeah, you’re r-right,” Sansa’s voice, thick with tears, hiccuped, and she stepped back as she wiped over her eyes with her sleeve, “I… I have to go. I – you – I’ll see you.”

Even though it was probably what she’d wanted when she’d seen Sansa earlier, now that the moment was here, she was felt gripped by a sharp, frantic anxiety about Sansa leaving. “Sansa, please,” she repeated, swallowing again to hold everything back that wanted to spill out and still not knowing exactly what she wanted to say, “We… you don’t have to go.”

“I do,” she nodded, firm and erratic, quickly turning from Margaery, and watching the immediate shuddering of her shoulders made the deep, burrowing ache in Margaery’s chest feel like it was widening into a chasm. “I have plans.”

She followed her to the door, wanting to beg her to stay because a whole new fear had taken root with every step Sansa took. The fear that this was the last time she was going to see Sansa leave, her apartment echoing with the sound of Sansa’s quiet, muffled tears.

“Don’t; not like this. I know you need some time,” her own words broke as she quickly wiped at her eyes, and, when did her own tears start falling? “Can I call you a – a cab or,” she reached out for Sansa, then hesitated.

“I’ll be f-fine,” Sansa’s shoulders heaved again and everything inside of her felt absolutely wrecked, “I just – I need to go. I, um,” she paused at the door, her hand on the knob, holding so tightly Margaery could see her knuckles turn white, “Bye?” she offered and it was so small, whatever was left holding Margaery together was just _done_ , and then the door slammed behind Sansa.

It wasn’t the last time she would see Sansa, she assured herself, but the worry didn’t go away in the least. In fact, it only burrowed in deeper, harder.

They were never going to be able to be anything real, she reminded herself desperately. Ending it now, only saved pain for the long run. It was better for the both of them, ultimately. It was the _only_ thing that would keep this friendship.

She repeated it to herself in the deafening silence of her apartment, the only noise was her labored breathing. She’d never had this aching in her chest before, this feeling like her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.

_It was going to be fine_ , she told herself more forcefully. She had to believe it. She had to.

Even if she didn’t.

Her hands clenched so hard, trying to help contain everything inside that wanted desperately to break open, as she turned to walk back into the kitchen. She couldn’t look at the door and think about Sansa leaving and worry about how permanent it was.

She just had to get herself together. She just… she just… Sansa would realize that this was for the best. They would work through it. She just needed to wait out the storm. To wait out Sansa. To wait out this crushing feeling in herself.

She could do it. She –

Came to a dead stop when she actually _noticed_ the kitchen table for the first time since arriving home.

Roses laid out on the table, a vibrant, yellow and red bouquet, nearly bursting out of the paper. Her hands shook when she reached out for the card on top, written in so familiar, delicate writing:

  _Margaery - I snuck back in with your key after I finished my paper. Even if we won't be seeing each other tonight, I wanted you to know that I had no doubts how amazing you would be, and that I've been thinking of you and wishing you unnecessary luck all day. Love, Sansa_

She barely registered her knees giving out, sliding down the wall until she sat curled on the floor, fingers curled into the card, holding on tightly as if holding onto the card was a connection to Sansa herself, as the painful sobs she’d been keeping locked in broke out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know all thoughts and feelings and opinions on this doozy of a chapter. Thank you so much for reading and sticking around with this story, as always!


	21. I Wish You Were The One That Got Away

_Dear Ms. Stark,_

_On behalf of the Archives of Volantis, I am pleased to extend to you a place in our internship program, the orientation for which will begin on Monday, May 12 of this year. An overview of your duties and assignments is enclosed and will be spoken about in detail during your orientation._

_The salary for this position is $250.00/week, for an initial employment period of 18 weeks, ending September 16. An additional 12 weeks of hire may be offered pending performance. If offered and you choose to accept, your internship will be completed on December 10. You will be expected to work an average of approximately 42 hours/week, with flexible hours during the week._

_Room and board will be provided within a manageable and timely distance to our location – see attached documents for farther details. Travel arrangements must be made independently._

_The Archives of Volantis has been an institution for over three hundred years and continues to grow every year. Since accepting interns into our program fifty years ago, we’ve seen the Archives thrive with the benefit of a youthful perspective, working in tandem to enrich young lives. Ours is a rigorous but unparalleled rewarding program. We look forward to hearing from you in regards to this position._

_If you have any questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to contact us for any additional information._

_Please respond with confirmation of acceptance of this position by March 1._

_Sincerely,_  
_Nysseos Qoheros_  
_Director of Education and Experience_

She’d only gotten the letter yesterday, but it was already looking worn, with the amount of times she’d unfolded it, then folded it again. Because she had no idea how to feel about it.

It was – she wanted to feel happy. Proud of herself.

But everything was such an absolute mess. Such a mess that she ached, feeling hollow and worn down.

This internship itself… Sansa applied and hadn’t truly, actually thought she was going to get in.

It was one of the most prestigious internships she could have possibly applied for; they accepted less than ten percent of the people who applied. It seemed like it had been nearly out of reach; a vague plan that was easy to just not even really think she was going to achieve.

Even more than that, it was hers. Something she’d done – for once in her life – without consulting her family or with Jeyne. Which now felt foolish. Because the only person she’d talked to about it was Margaery, and just thinking about her soft smile when she’d encouraged Sansa to apply, that she would get in, just… hurt.

Hurt, like maybe she really wouldn’t have cared if Sansa left the country if she got in.

Blowing out a deep breath, Sansa stared blankly down at the letter.

But now she had gotten in, and she hadn’t talked about it with her family, who she always talked about her future with, even when she was uncertain or worried. Or, most importantly, with Jeyne. Who she _should_ have talked about it with, since, if she went, she would be leaving her alone in their apartment, which she knew Jeyne couldn’t afford on her own.

And…

Smoothing her hand over the paper, she bit at her bottom lip hard enough to try to distract her from the incessant burning behind her eyes, there with the constant want to cry and the lack of sleep.

She’d had what she knew now was the dumbest hope. That even if she got in to this impossible internship, perhaps she wouldn’t end up going. That somehow, something would have happened by this point where Margaery would confess having feelings for her. That Margaery would have _developed_ feelings for her to confess.

That maybe she was in love with her the way Sansa loved Margaery. Loved her in this painful, heart aching, wanting kind of way.

That with that confession, with that _love_ , it would feel like everything could slot into place easily. That she wouldn’t have to worry about going to this internship or the distance, because somehow, she and Margaery could be committed to one another, and that –

That all of those fantasies she’d loved to imagine for herself as a child, where she would get swept off her feet in a heart-pounding, happy-tear-inducing romance, would come true. In spite of knowing that wasn’t what they were supposed to be doing.

In spite of the fact that she knew that wasn’t how real life worked, by now. She’d been hurt before, and she’d grown from it, and she’d thought that by going into this thing with Margaery with her eyes open, that she was saving herself from being hurt again.

Yet, here she was.

Here she was, wishing she knew what she’d done or what had happened that seemed to make Margaery suddenly want to end things, when they’d been going so well.

It just – it didn’t make _sense_. The morning of the debate, things had been so utterly, undeniably good. Margaery had been looking at her when she’d woken up, and though there was that campaign-intensity about her, there’d also been an indescribable softness. And even though Sansa had offered to leave Margaery to preparing for her day alone, Margaery had been the one to propose that she stay and that they could do their work together at her table.

It had been _Margaery_ who invited her to spend nights there. _Margaery_ who pulled Sansa close to her and would nip over the spot on her neck where she’d left a mark and then trace her fingertip there, with that reverent look on her face. It had been _Margaery_ who had led them into all of the events that had brought them to that intimate morning – the morning in which she told Sansa to stay at her apartment, even after she’d left.

Everything that morning felt both charged and soft, as if things were naturally shifting into place.

She just… she didn’t know what happened between when she’d seen Margaery that morning to when she’d seen her after the debate to have made _everything_ change so much. What could she have possibly done?

She just – she couldn’t figure it out, and in the three days since, it had been all she could do to hold herself together. All she could do not to go crazy trying to dissect all of their interactions leading up to that night.

And, in all truthfulness, it was that confusion that was holding her together at the seams. That… that maybe this was some sort of misunderstanding. Something that could be fixed. Something that could make sense.

_I think that it’s getting to be the time that time that we… rethink this_.

Sansa bit her lip hard. It was almost unbearable to deal with the way her chest constricted every time she thought about how damningly naïve she’d been in that moment.

In that one moment, with those words, with the quietly serious way Margaery had spoken them, Sansa had felt her hopes skyrocket. The quickening of her heartbeat, thinking that maybe it was the rush of winning her debate so spectacularly that prompted Margaery into wanting to make their arrangement into something real.

And the way her nerves had buzzed and jumped to life in excitement in that moment, the hope that she’d had in thinking that Margaery was ready to face what they really had between them, had just been knocked right out of her. So quickly and so abruptly that it had felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

_After all, I’m only going to get busier and deeper into the political world and I don’t think there’s anything else I could possibly teach you about sex, at this point._

Gods. For a few moments afterwards, she hadn’t even realized what Margaery even… she hadn’t realized the magnitude for what felt like ages in the thirty seconds that played out.

Such an idiot, she thought, her stomach clenching so painfully she lifted a hand to it and rubbed as if this was a physical ache she could make go away.

It had been days, and Sansa still felt that hollow feeling inside of her that was brought with Margaery’s words. With the way Margaery had seemed so composed compared to the way Sansa felt. Like all of those thoughts and dreams and excitements that she’d been feeling, that had been building, for months had been torn from her so swiftly.

So unexpectedly. So easily.

But maybe it shouldn’t have been unexpected. After all, it wasn’t the first time someone she’d been with, been sleeping with, was so far from being on the same page with her and she’d ended up being blindsided.

She just – she’d thought everything with Margaery had been different. From their experiences, to the intensity of her feelings, to Margaery herself. The way she’d treated Sansa, the way she looked at her. With respect and something that seemed so close to bordering on _reverence_.

But she’d been wrong, apparently. So fucking wrong.

 “A stupid girl, who never learns,” she murmured, feeling utterly frustrated with herself, as she had to blink away tears. The tears that had seemingly no end after the last few days, no matter how much she tried to refuse to indulge in them.

She didn’t _want_ to cry; she didn’t want to think about it, at all. And yet there was little she could do to distract herself from it.

“I think that letter you’ve been smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles from proves that you are far from stupid,” Mya’s voice came from behind her, and Sansa jump, surprise racing through her. “Good morning.”

She quickly rubbed at her eyes, as discreetly as she could, before she turned to look over the back of the couch at her friend. Who had emerged from her room, dressed for the day, her messenger bag that she brought to campus every day slung over her shoulder.

Sansa managed to tick her lips up as much as she could, in what she knew was probably a pathetic excuse for a smile, “Hey.” She flickered her eyes back to the internship letter, before shaking her head, “I – no, I wasn’t talking about _this_.”

It was everywhere except for academics that Sansa felt like she was flailing.

Despite Mya’s typical candid frank demeanor, she gave Sansa one of those quietly sympathetic looks that she’d been getting for the last few days. Where her big blue eyes were full of just this side of pity, “So, if we aren’t talking about how your amazing internship… does this mean you finally want to talk about the night that shall not be named?”

Sansa ducked her head, an odd combination of face-burning embarrassment and this aching sadness that she couldn’t hide from, with this desperate want to avoid the entire situation spreading through her.

It had been something she’d been feeling ever since she’d showed up here, at Mya’s apartment a few nights ago. After she’d left Margaery’s apartment, her heart shattered, barely able to see through her tears.

When she’d rushed past the doorman, getting hit with the chilly end-of-winter air, she still hadn’t been able to take a deep breath, and she hadn’t known exactly where to go. All she’d known was that she had to _get away from there_. To get away before she went back up to Margaery’s and broke down in front of her even more.

She had to get away before she went back to Margaery’s and embarrassed herself. She had to get away from there before her legs gave out from how weak and shaky she expected to feel. The way she felt when she was heartbroken.

Only, she didn’t feel like that. The more she walked, blindly through the neighborhoods of King’s Landing, the less sobbing she did and the more the numbness set in. Like the back of her throat burned and the backs of her eyes ached and she could feel the tears streaming down her face still, but still. Numb.

The thoughts of _why_ and _how was this happening_ and _why am I so stupid_ and _what was going on_ and _didn’t Margaery have feelings for me at all_ and _what did I do_ insulating her from the world around her.

By the time she realized that she’d been walking around for… a lot longer than she typically would feel safe walking around alone at night, she didn’t even have it in her to be surprised. Everything felt muted, in a way that she’d never experienced before, which in itself was kind of scary.

In her haze, she finally put together the dots of where she was and got on the subway. Not even realizing until she was on it that it had been literal hours and that her hands and nose were now numb, too. And instead of getting on the subway that would lead her home, she took the one that brought her to Mya’s.

Going home… facing Jeyne… felt almost impossible to face. And a part of her that craved the warmth of home also pushed it away. Like. If she went home, there wouldn’t be this cocooning numbness anymore at all.

She hadn’t even been able to mumble out the apology at being so completely late for their plans; her friend had taken one look at her and pulled her inside. Their plans had been silently canceled on the spot and when Mya had pulled her to ask what was wrong, Sansa had found that she couldn’t answer.

Her mouth opened and she could hear everything Margaery had said and could feel how heavy everything inside of her felt, but – the words just wouldn’t come out.

In alarming truth, much of that evening after leaving Margaery’s was a blur.

That feeling, the intensity of it, was unlike anything she’d ever felt. Which felt like a double-edges sword, because it really only confirmed that what she was feeling for Margaery was more than anything she’d ever felt for anyone else.

She’d spent the night on Mya’s couch. Not sleeping at all, because all she could do was think about what Margaery had said – that much was all stunningly clear. What Margaery had said, how she’d looked while she’d said it.

How she’d pleaded with Sansa to stay afterwards.

Shaking her head as if that could possibly help her stop being haunted by the words, she cleared her throat, “No. Thanks, um, for offering. Again.”

Because even though she’d never spent more than a day’s hangout at Mya’s apartment – a small place that rattled a bit whenever any of the downtown subways went by that her friend by self-admission couldn’t wait to afford to move out of – she hadn’t actually been home since that night for longer than short intervals of time when she’d ducked in, knowing that Jeyne would be at work.

Mya offered a soft smile, “Hey, what are friends for? My couch might be not the most comfortable, but it’s yours for as long as you want it.” An exaggerated look of disdain crossed her face, “Unless Jeyne comes hounding the TA office for you again; then I’ll be forced to give up your location.”

She couldn’t even really muster up an appropriate scoff, instead giving an appreciative smile, “Thanks,” she repeated, her fingers tracing over the edges of the letter, before she took a deep breath, “But I should go home soon.”

Mya shrugged, “The offer stands.” She readjusted, her hands tugging at the strap of her messenger bag, “I have to get going, or I’ll be late for Waynwood’s class.” After a beat, she rolled her eyes and sighed, “Look, I know I’m not always the most… sensitive person,” she settled on, “You can talk to me, though.”

That really did garner a real smile, and it felt like she hadn’t done that in more than three days. It felt like smiling and cheering and veritably freaking out in excitement while watching Margaery eviscerate Cersei on tv during their debate happened weeks ago.

“I know. Believe me, Mya, I never doubted that about you,” She _did_ know; the problem wasn’t with Mya but with herself. She had no idea how to even say the words aloud. Margaery didn’t want her anymore. Margaery thought it was best to end what was between them.

Margaery went from kissing Sansa softly in the morning and staring at her whenever Sansa was looking away, from making Sansa really think something was there, to… ending it. And she just didn’t – couldn’t understand it.

And, sitting here, with Mya giving her that understanding look, there was this utter guilt that sat heavy in her stomach.

Guilt, because she had been hibernating on Mya’s couch and essentially using her home to hide from reality, without giving her any of the details as to why. Guilt because she knew, despite having been fairly incommunicado on her phone, that Jeyne was more than worried about her.

Guilt even because she could hear in her mind Margaery pleading for her to inexplicably stay that night, and that they were supposed to be friends, but now she didn’t know how to do that. Guilt because this had been her idea and now, she’d messed up everything between them with her dumb, stupid idea and her even dumber feelings.

“Good,” she hesitated for a second, before huffing out a breath, “And, you know I don’t necessarily love giving advice, but – a word of it? You’re welcome to hide out here as long as you need. But sometimes it’s better to rip off the band-aid from… whatever is going on.” She nodded as if pushing out the words had been stressful, “Okay. Well. See you later.”

Sansa got in a wave before the door creaked shut behind Mya, and took in the quiet apartment for a moment. Perhaps that was why it was easy to be here. It _was_ easy to live in a bubble here, knowing that Mya – more than anyone else she knew – respected privacy and didn’t ever ask for more information than she wanted to give.

Even if she sometimes perhaps needed to be pushed.

She took in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds as she looked between the letter in her hands and where her phone lay face down on the table.

Her phone that she’d truly tried to avoid for the past couple of days as much as possible.

She knew she had messages on there from her family and from Jeyne, but she _knew_ , with this intrinsic base feeling, that the second she spoke to her mom or to her friend, that was it. There would be no more bubble to try to hide from the world. There would be no little threads holding herself together anymore.

Sansa could feel that when she left this little bubble, when she had to… to just accept everything that was going on with Margaery – that it was over, that she wasn’t enough, that she had been such a fool for believing she ever would be – that she would break.

Her breath was shaky as she reached out and grabbed her phone, her stomach feeling like she’d eaten a brick this morning, despite the fact that she hadn’t been able to stomach much more than a few cups of tea and a few slices of toast since everything had happened.

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she rested her cheek against them and unlocked her phone.

She skimmed over the group chat with her siblings, where a long conversation had taken place involving the fact that Robb and his groomsmen – including all their brothers – had completed the dance that he was going to be surprise performing for his Jeyne at the wedding. Robb had told her about it a couple of months ago, jokingly blaming her because, “She never would be teasing me about my dance skills if you hadn’t told her I practiced all your ballroom dancing lessons with you when we were kids!”

It made her chuckle, a little bit, even as she ached a little more with their messages. The ache of wishing she didn’t have so much going on and that she could truly leave everything behind and sink into the familiar comfort of her family.

And that feeling of warmth faded far quicker than she wished when she scrolled a bit lower to Jeyne’s messages.

_**Jeyne – 10:44PM**_  
 _Am I gonna see you when I get home from work?_  
_I know you said you were working on a project_  
_with Mya, but the project will still be there in_  
_the morning, after a goodnight sleep in your_  
_own bed!_

_**Jeyne – 11:21PM**  _  
 _Okay, coming home during the day while I was_  
_at work and leaving me a note there about not_  
_coming home again tonight was sneaky_

_**Jeyne – 11:40PM**    
_ _I know it’s only been a couple of days but I’m_  
_lonely without you :’(_

_**Jeyne – 11:44PM**  _  
 _You’re not mad at me, right? I returned the_  
_boots I borrowed from youuuu_

_**Jeyne – 11:46PM**  _   
_No, you’d have told me_

_**Jeyne – 11:48PM**  _   
_Goodnight, princess!_

_**Jeyne – 9:01AM**  _  
 _Praise the gods, I have the day off! And I_  
_did your laundry with mine & cleaned your  _  
_room. I hope you’re coming home today, I_  
_miss your beautiful face_

The knots in her stomach coiled so tightly she thought she was going to be sick; which was precisely why she hadn’t looked at Jeyne’s messages when she’d gotten them last night.

She already felt guilty about avoiding Jeyne for the last few days just because… gods, she didn’t want to hear everything Jeyne would say about Margaery. She didn’t want to hear that Jeyne had known all along what Sansa had refused to believe was true.

And she – swallowing hard, her hand squeezed tighter around her phone – she hadn’t wanted to really face that everything really had crashed and burned.

That was even before she’d – as the text said – snuck in yesterday to grab a change of clothes and leave Jeyne a note, knowing she would be at work. When she’d checked the mail and seen the letter.

_How_ was she supposed to tell Jeyne? Who missed her enough after two days, to do her laundry for her, a chore she detested. Who missed trusted that no matter what was going on, Sansa would have already told her…

When she hadn’t told her that she’d applied for a program that would mean she would be moving out of their apartment for months. Moving to another country, at that. And, why? Because she had wanted something for herself? Because she hadn’t believed she would be getting in, so why even share it?

Pressing her forehead tightly against her knees, she bit at the inside of her cheek. Regardless of whatever Jeyne was going to say about Margaery, she had to go home. And she definitely had to tell her about the internship.

It was quite possible she _deserved_ to be told off, after all.

_**Sansa – 10:51AM**  
I’ll be home today. I promise._

Because… she couldn’t put it off anymore. Her heart was in her throat, beating so fast already that she felt a little dizzy, as she pulled up the one message thread she had simultaneously wanted to avoid but had been unable to not look at in the last few nights.

The first night, she’d been curled up on the couch into as small of a ball as she could be, trying to stop replaying everything in her head, when the message had come through.

_**Margaery – 2:09AM**    
I still want to be your friend, Sansa. I care so   _  
_incredibly much about you. So much. So… much._    
_And I know there’s still some more to talk about, if_    
_you wanted to._

Gods, she’d had to press her face against the pillow to muffle her tears and clutched her phone to her chest, unable to write anything back.

Because did that mean Margaery really did have a real reason? Did that mean that maybe it was Sansa? Had it… had her _feelings_ been too obvious? What could it have been?

And then the day after, there had been no more messages. Nothing about what else they had to talk about. Nothing about what she’d done or supposedly hadn’t done. Nothing.

It was radio silence that entire day, which had felt like it had been dragging on forever, as she’d miserably TA’d her class and gone through the motions.

Until that night –

_**Margaery – 2:54AM**  _  
 _Please let me know whenever you’re ready to_  
_talk. I’m sorry._

She’d tried to write back to that one, even as her throat felt like it was closing on her. Was she sorry for breaking Sansa’s heart? Sorry for “ _blurring their lines_ ” as she’d said that night? Sorry for not loving Sansa the way Sansa loved her? Sorry for thinking that Sansa could just so easily fall back into being only her friend when they were so much more?

She had – she had so many questions. And despite wanting answers, she… she hadn’t wanted to see Margaery. She hadn’t wanted to face her again and know that everything was unequivocally over.

And so, no. She hadn’t been ready, and she didn’t text her back.

Last night, in her weakest moment, she’d pulled up their texts. Rereading past messages between them had been such a dumb, idiotic mistake, but she couldn’t help it. All of the flirty moments between them, the sexy moments, the times Margaery called her darling…

Inhaling sharply, she pressed her forehead against her knee; she was going to miss that so much. The way Margaery would give her a look that was just so – warm when she’d say it.

But it was all there. Their back-and-forth, and nowhere in it could she pinpoint what had changed. She didn’t know what to say…

_I’m not ready to talk now, seeing you would break me._

_Do you know I love you?_

_I just don’t understand._

_I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to want me._

She couldn’t say any of that. Instead, she’d just reread their messages and felt empty. Then had nearly dropped her phone as those three little dots at the bottom appeared right before her eyes at nearly three in the morning, telling her Margaery was typing, her stomach flip-flopping in nervous hope, only to be dashed when they disappeared.

Her teeth dug in deep to her bottom lip as she tried to gather herself, staring at the messages.

Margaery didn’t want to be with her. It had been days and she’d tried to not face it, but – it was right here in front of her. Margaery wasn’t going to come running to her and telling her she was in love with her, wasn’t going to sweep her off her feet. Wasn’t going to say that she made a mistake and that she wanted to be with her. Wasn’t going to reassure Sansa that she wasn’t alone in this.

And she had to face that.

**_Sansa – 11:02AM_ **

_~~Hey… do you want~~ _

_~~Hi Margaery, what~~ _

_~~I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding~~ _

_Can we talk?_

She was _nervous_. She was nervous, about texting Margaery, when only three days ago, it was just second nature. That alone made her want to cry again.

But her phone vibrated immediately.

_**Margaery – 11:03AM**  _   
_Where and when?_

It was over two hours later that she walked into The Grind, a coffee shop that was nowhere near Sansa’s apartment or school, but wasn’t too far from Margaery’s work. The drinks weren’t as good as Topped Off but there was no way in any hell she would venture into Jeyne’s business to have this… meeting.

She hadn’t wanted to see Margaery anywhere that it would be just the two of them. Not when… gods, Sansa was hoping that she would be able to keep it together, but she just knew if it was in private – if Margaery could just _be_ Margaery and do something like reach out and stroke her face – Sansa would have no chance of not being a sobbing mess.

There weren’t even good odds that she would be able to keep herself together now.

But it was also not a very popular place, and didn’t hit peak traffic times until the evening, after the businesses nearby closed for the day. It was the _only_ relief she had as she stepped into the café, seeing that there were only two occupied tables, and that they were both near one another, at the front of the shop.

Her shoulders were so tense, she could barely roll them to try to relax, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been dreading something so much.

She was prepared to hear Margaery list everything that was truly wrong with her – in a nice way, because she still couldn’t fathom Margaery being cruelly unkind – or for Margaery to… to confront the fact that Sansa was invested in them for real. To hear Margaery say that no, in spite of all of Sansa’s thoughts that they were on the same page, she never did have more than friend feelings and an attraction back. That she never would.

Okay. She could feel her heart thudding dully in her chest as she took another shaky breath, maybe she wasn’t even all that ready to hear those things.

But she thought maybe she had to. And at the very least, she wanted… no, she _needed_ to know what had happened in the eight hours between Margaery leaving her apartment that morning with them on good terms and Margaery returning home to end things.

She was at least glad that she’d gotten here before Margaery. It gave her time to settle in and –

“Sansa?” it was a familiar voice, and both thankfully and disappointingly not Margaery’s.

She spun around, and she didn’t know _why_ she was surprised to see Elia, wavy and sort of wild but in a good way hair falling down her back, to-go cup in hand. After all, the only time she’d been to this café and the only reason she knew it existed was because they’d come here the first time they’d met up.

“Long time, no see,” Elia commented, a smile bright and wide on her face as she reached out to squeeze Sansa’s hand.

She flushed; she’d last seen Elia right before going home for the holidays, and despite having been back for a month, hadn’t texted her since. “I – yeah, I’m sorry.”

_I’ve been busy with school, not to mention realizing I was in love with the woman I started sleeping with after your own encouragement, and then being broken up with by said woman_.

But Elia waved her off, sincere smile still on her face, “Oh, don’t be silly. We’ve both been busy. The real question is, what are you doing here? You were all, Topped Off has better tea selections,” she teased.

And it made Sansa feel her shoulders loosen just the littlest bit, even if her stomach knotted up even tighter, “It does. But I…” wanted to have a devastating kind-of breakup talk in public to avoid less of an emotional breakdown? “Wanted… something different today.”

She attempted to grin, but she even felt it was more like a grimace.

Elia’s dark eyes narrowed as she looked Sansa over closer than she had before, her eyebrows crinkling together as she frowned, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but, are you okay?”

Ugh, gods. Now she could definitely feel herself blush, and she ducked her head a bit, pointedly looking at the floor for a moment. She hadn’t slept all that well in the last few nights, and she knew that despite wearing her glasses to try to cover up the bags under her eyes, they were still alarmingly present. Plus, she hadn’t stomached food all that well, either, and – well, she knew she wasn’t looking anywhere near her best.

Or even anywhere near mediocre, really.

“I’m fine,” and she could hear how weak her own assurance was. She couldn’t even lie to a new friend like Elia; it confirmed the fact that her avoiding Jeyne and her family for the last few days had been for the best.

Elia’s frown only deepened and she narrowed her eyes, and the look of realization quickly followed by one of sympathy made Sansa uneasy even before she asked, “Is it because of Margaery and what happened a few days ago?”

She choked on the air in her throat, eyes wide as she looked around reflexively, “I – what?” gods, the last thing she needed on top of this aching sadness was the edge of alarm, “No? Why would you think it has anything to do with Margaery?”

Because she’d never mentioned Margaery’s name to Elia; she was positive of that much. Not in any capacity that would out Margaery or reveal that she was the one Sansa was sleeping with.

Elia slanted an eyebrow toward her, incredulous, “Sansa, please. I’m not _blind_. And I was watching her debate last week, when she straight out denied being romantically involved with anyone.” She grimaced, “I was going to text you but… I didn’t know what to say about it. I just figure, you know, having your girlfriend deny your relationship on television like that had to hurt.”

Her words were forthright but not insensitive, softly spoken, and Sansa still couldn’t quell this anxiety.

“No,” she denied, faintly, thinking back to the exact moment Elia mentioned.

She’d forgotten about that. Completely hadn’t even registered it. At the time, she hadn’t even been upset by it in the least. It hadn’t bothered her at all; she’d been caught up in the debate and in Margaery kicking ass.

It was exactly the response she had known Margaery would say. She knew about her worries when it came to coming out. But it was painful now, to think about it. To think that it wasn’t just a rejection or fear of coming out, but also a rejection of _her_. An outright statement that she did not have feelings for her.

She closed her eyes against these stupid tears that stung her eyes again, wanting so badly to fall. To think about how stupid she’d been… when the signs were all there in front of her face, and she had still been hopeful that things were changing.

Her heart was pounding in her ears, though, and she looked around again, “No. We aren’t…” well, they weren’t much of anything now. She took a deep breath, “We aren’t girlfriends. We never have been.”

The truth of it _hurt_ , another notch on the vice that had been wrapped around her chest. But, more than that, she felt an urgency to make sure Elia believed her.

It didn’t work, though, and that much was clear, as there was skepticism written all over her face, “But you were something.”

She knew that this underlying panic she was feeling was entirely for Margaery’s sake, and despite this utter distress she’d been feeling in the last few days, she couldn’t – she couldn’t…

“No,” she denied, firmly, managing to take a deep breath and straighten her shoulders in a way she’d seen Margaery do in the past that always seemed to make her look in control, “We’re just –” what even were they, now? “Friends.”

She got a look of such disbelief in response that she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, “Sansa. I know the truth. I know Margaery was your friend who you had something going on with.”

Hells. She _wanted_ to deny it more, wanted to know how exactly Elia knew, and what she’d done, but she was at a loss for words to even begin to ask anything beyond, “How?”

Elia looked truly, genuinely sympathetic, and she reached out again, her free hand cupping Sansa’s warmly, “I’m not going to out her or anything. I wouldn’t do that.”

Both the touch and the words soothed these newly frayed nerves, and she brushed a hand through her hair… gods, she wasn’t sure how much more she could take today, and Margaery wasn’t even there yet.

“And, if this is something you’re worried about, you weren’t the one who gave it away,” Elia murmured, holding eye contact as she sipped at her coffee, her hand still lightly squeezing at Sansa’s.

She couldn’t help but squeeze it back now, glancing around again as if anyone was even near them, let alone interested in what they would be saying. But suddenly, it seemed imperative, “I wasn’t? Who was?”

Dark eyes blinked up at her for a moment, seeming surprised, “Well, I sort of put it together a while ago. Not because of anything you said! Just, I saw Margaery coming up to your place when I was leaving once…” she trailed off, looking contemplative, before sighing, “And then I started following along a bit in the election. And, if you know what to look for, it was kind of obvious.”

_Obvious_?

They were obvious? How were they possibly obvious? Gods… she hadn’t even thought of that. Then again, she didn’t know that anyone would even have an inkling that they should maybe be looking into her and Margaery’s relationship.

She had to swallow back the thousand questions that she had, though. Elia wasn’t who could give her the answers she wanted. And, she supposed, it didn’t necessarily change anything.

It didn’t matter, because whatever anyone might think they knew, there wasn’t anything to know now.

“Um, whatever you thought you knew,” that she and Margaery were _girlfriends, “_ We’re not… anymore,” Not anything, anymore.

Elia gave her a sad smile, “Sorry.” One more hand squeeze, “Well, you have my number.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and she didn’t know why even the insinuation seemed to dig in and twist everything in her stomach even more, “I’m, uh, I don’t think I’m ready for –”

“Not like _that_ ,” Elia chuckled for a moment, giving her a teasing smile that work to calm her astonishment, “Just, don’t be a stranger. We haven’t hung out in a while, and I’d like to. Plus, if anyone in your life, as far as I know, can relate to not being with the woman you want to be with, it’s me.”

Taking a moment to let the offer sink in, she found herself nodding. She definitely didn’t think she’d be able to try to date anyone, but… it could be nice. Having another friend – just a friend this time – who could relate to this side of her.

“That sounds good,” blowing out a deep breath, Sansa’s gaze darted to the clock on the wall behind the counter, and her nerves jangled just knowing that Margaery was going to be there any second. “I’m, um, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m meeting –”

She cut herself off, hardly managing to stop herself from yelping before standing frozen and entirely uncertain as Elia’s eyes seemed to gleam and she used the hold she had on Sansa’s hand to pull herself in close. She pressed her lips to Sansa’s cheek, close enough to just barely miss brushing her lips.

There was no give in her body at all, as she gave Elia a look of utter confusion because, well, she guessed cheek kisses weren’t entirely unnatural. They’d never done them before, though, and the last time she’d had someone so deliberately kiss her on the cheek like that, it had been Margaery.

And… the feeling was so painfully not the same. Every time Margaery touched her, there was just this connection. This spark. Something she’d never felt before, not really with anyone else.

Elia smirked a bit as she pulled back, whispering, “Trust me, you’ll see.” With a stroke of her thumb over the back of Sansa’s hand, “Text me, Sansa, Sansa Stark. And who knows? Maybe eventually it can be like _that_.”

Eyebrows furrowing together, she turned to watch Elia go as she walked by her… only to land on Margaery.

Oh. _Trust me_.

She got it, now.

Elia didn’t pause, just walked right by Margaery, who stood just a step inside the café.

Everything seemed to pause.

It had only been a few days, she told herself. It had only been a few days, but it felt like a lifetime since she’d seen her.

How did it feel like simultaneously she was breathless with the same feeling she always got when she saw her – that _Margaery is so incredibly beautiful_ breathless – and with that feeling like she was being kicked in the stomach all over again?

She was wearing her white jacket, that fell mid-thigh, leaving only a few inches of her dress for the day uncovered, and her hair was as perfectly styles as always, and… and she looked perfect.

The tears that sprung up in her eyes surprised her, and she quickly cut off their eye contact. Instead, she sharply turned away.

She felt more than saw Margaery approach her – slowly, hesitantly, and so very un-Margaery. But at least she’d walked toward Sansa, because she… she didn’t think she could have bridged the gap.

Blinking a bit to clear those tears, she tried to take in a deep breath through her nose. She could do this. She _had_ to do this, she told herself.

“Hi,” she managed to get out, clearing her throat.

Margaery’s eyes were straight ahead, staring at the menu behind the counter, and her face was carefully blank. It was a look Sansa had seen before… but not to her. And it hurt.

“Hi,” Margaery echoed, her voice soft, and she turned just enough to look at Sansa again.

And that’s when she realized, knowing she was staring at Margaery and not stopping, that she was _trying_ to make her face carefully blank, and wasn’t quite succeeding.

It was drawn just a bit tighter, just there at the corner of her lips – but it was just the way she’d looked that time at her grandmother’s party. When she’d been jealous.

She didn’t comment on Elia at all, though. When before, knowing Margaery was jealous had absolutely thrilled her, this just hurt. She would have commented on it, before. Maybe not even necessarily saying she was jealous, but she would have said or done something.

She _hated_ knowing that, now. That now she knew all of these ways to read Margaery’s face and know what she was thinking, and that the knowledge didn’t go away. She knew so much… almost everything about Margaery now, and what was she supposed to do with that knowledge?

Blue eyes drew up from where they’d settled unintentionally on Margaery’s lips – lips that she knew. Knew their softness, their firmness, their taste, the way they felt moving down her body – up to her eyes.

Those wondrously big, doe eyes that could be softer than a marshmallow or hard as stone, and Sansa didn’t know what Margaery wanted them to be like right now, but she knew that she’d never seen Margaery look so… wanting.

It wasn’t sexy-wanting, but _longing_ almost. The way Sansa thought they might look at three in the morning when Margaery was sending apology texts. 

But if she was going to look at Sansa like that, then why – why?

“I’m going to, um, grab a table,” she turned away, as though there weren’t over fifteen open tables compared to the two taken ones.

She felt Margaery’s eyes on her the whole time but didn’t let herself turn around no matter how much she wanted to. How was she supposed to look at Margaery when she was giving her that soft look in return? How was Sansa supposed to do anything but love her?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know anything, clearly, which was why she was here in this mess.

It felt like she’d barely had a second to try to gather herself before Margaery sat in front of her, sliding a cup across the table, “It’s chamomile. I thought you’d want it… unless you already had a cup before I got here.”

Her hands were already wrapping around the warm mug, even as her stomach dipped. Because of course Margaery got her the tea she drank when she was stressed or hadn’t been sleeping.

“No, I didn’t,” even though she wasn’t feeling particularly hungry or thirsty. Neither of them took a sip, though, and she felt fidgety. She wished she could touch Margaery’s hand and get some comfort, in one of the simple touches that they’d always had between them, even before sleeping together.

After a few beats of staring, Sansa realized that no, Margaery didn’t look perfect. She knew she herself didn’t, of course, but… Margaery was wearing more makeup than usually, her eyes drooping a bit as she looked down at her coffee.

Then again, she knew that Margaery wasn’t sleeping well, either.

But it didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, it just made her ache a bit more, knowing that everything between them was making her miserable, too.

Margaery took a sip of her coffee, “Well, it’s not as good as Topped Off…” her eyes slid to Sansa’s above her cup, murmuring, “But I haven’t been there in a few days.”

The wrath of Jeyne was unspoken between them, but she couldn’t even manage a smile.

Instead, she dragged her finger around the lip of her mug, avoiding looking right at Margaery, “Yeah. Jeyne doesn’t know… about anything. I haven’t been home much.”

Margaery was giving her a look of such consternation, and Sansa truly couldn’t tell exactly what she wanted to say, only that there were many things that she was clearly thinking about.

But, gods, the last thing she wanted right now was for Margaery to just apologize. She didn’t want Margaery to – to feel pity for her. She wanted Margaery to love her. She wanted Margaery to explain why she kept giving her that look, the look like she wanted to do that thing where she would cup Sansa’s jaw and stroke her cheek all softly the way she did sometimes.

The tea burned in her throat, which seemed to be permanently constricted, before she gathered all of her courage and just rushed out the words, “I need to know. Was it because of our… friendship… being obvious?” it wasn’t something she’d thought of until only minutes ago with Elia, but she needed so _badly_ to make sense of it all.

Margaery broke eye contact, her hand tightening around her mug, “Sansa –”

“You said there was more to talk about,” she pushed, and it was surprisingly easy to do. Because she’d just had all of these questions for days, haunting her, and –

“Yes,” Margaery’s voice was quiet but firm, and her eyes were back on Sansa’s. Wide and imploring, and her jaw was set as she swallowed hard, “Yes. I just don’t,” she inhaled sharply, pinching at the bridge of her nose for a moment, before she looked up and trailed her eyes over the entire café, seeming on edge for reasons Sansa couldn’t fathom, “Nothing I say is going to make it easier, Sansa.”

Gods, there was a pleading tone in her voice that nearly broke Sansa, already. It was just so… not Margaery to sound like that.

She couldn’t hide the desperation she was feeling, though, “The truth. I just want you to tell me the truth. You said it wasn’t me, wasn’t my fault –”

“It’s _not_ ,” her voice was like steel as she cut Sansa off.

“Then why? Why end what’s between us if I didn’t do anything?”

Margaery took another deep breath, sitting up straight in her chair, and nodding as if to herself, “Because you were right. We were becoming too _obvious_.”

She didn’t know why she had expected that to make her feel better. Because she was proud to have Margaery next to her, in the capacity as someone who was her best friend and a lover and everything in between. But the way Margaery said it, like it was shameful or vile that they were obviously important to one another… it stung.

Her breathing grew a bit heavier, and she tried to wipe at her eyes as surreptitiously as she could.

And even though Margaery seemed to be wrestling with herself, she ended up sagging her shoulders, “And because after my debate, I found out that Cersei also thinks we were being too obvious. Because she knows that we’re –” she caught herself, “That we _were_ more than friends, and threatened to out it. She isn’t making idle threats; she has pictures of us together. Nothing indecent,” she quickly assured, as Sansa’s heart leapt into her throat at the implication, “But… she might not have anything now, but she is right that one day she will.”

It was such a strange way to hear Margaery speak, with this muted anger and defeat, as she stared intently at the table between them and Sansa stared at her.

After the debate… Margaery had been so normal literally right until the debate, texting her back as was typical and – there it was. And apparently Cersei Lannister _knew_ , knew that Margaery wasn’t straight, knew that Sansa wasn’t, and knew that their friendship was more.

It made her skin crawl a little bit, just imagining the threat, and her mind reeled for a few seconds as she sagged back into her chair.

She wanted so badly to reach across the table now and just hold Margaery’s hand. For her to know that Sansa realized how scared she must have been in that moment, for her to know that she _wasn’t_ alone.

As nauseous as it made her to think about the fact that Cersei Lannister had _pictures_ of her – of her and Margaery, together – she realized just how much more it would make Margaery feel that way.

Her hand twitched, wanting to reach for Margaery. For not only some show of comfort, but also because she craved that contact so badly.

Margaery drew in a breath, and lifted her gaze from the table, to Sansa’s, “I want you to know, please _know_ , that this isn’t easy for me. But I’m doing what’s best. For both of us.”

The hand she’d been bringing toward Margaery’s fell abruptly to the table, her stomach clenching painfully in what felt like – agitation. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” she spoke slowly, narrowing her eyes a bit, her heart pounding a bit faster.

Especially thinking about the last few days. What it had felt like, feeling like everything was falling apart. So confused and lonely and _hurt_ and, and yes, this was agitation, “You don’t get to decide what is best for me, because you don’t know what’s best for me.” If she did, she would have known that being miserable and, once again, left wondering what was wrong with her that made someone not want her, was _not_ what was best, “Don’t you remember the rules?”

Because she remembered explicitly adding onto them not to make assumptions.

“Don’t _you_ remember the rules?” Margaery shot back, and it was the first time she could really see how bad Margaery was feeling. Whatever façade she’d been managing to keep up fell completely away in that moment, and she could see it all written plainly. The pain she was feeling was mirrored right back.

It didn’t make her feel any better though. If anything, it hurt even worse.

“You wrote them! You came to my door, this was all your idea, and you left me with this piece of paper with the agreements. You are the one who wrote on there more than once that we were _friends_. That we put that first,” there was a fire behind her words, passionate and more desperate than she’d ever heard her, even when she got more of a hold on herself and drew back in, “And I’ve been here, terrified that I’m losing you for good. I need to know that we really are friends, Sansa. That I’m not going to lose you.”

It was that vulnerability that clawed through her agitation. That clawed through and wrapped right around her heart, squeezing so painfully tight, and she didn’t even know what to say.

Because Margaery was right. She was; this had been Sansa’s idea. She had come up with the rules. She had proposed this to Margaery, and insisted that they be friends, first and foremost.

And the guilt she felt, the guilt she had inside about the fact that she _couldn’t_ tell Margaery that they would come out of this being friends ate at her. It scared her, and she stared at Margaery, unable to speak even as Margaery’s expression, anxious, beseeching an answer.

“Why weren’t you just honest with me?” she asked instead, the words slipping out, “Why didn’t you just tell me it was because of Cersei and the pictures?” she whispered.

Margaery’s face crumpled at her avoidance of answering the question, and she looked away, drawing in a deep breath, before she shook her head, “Would it have made a difference? The end result is the same –”

“What if it didn’t have to be?” now _she_ was pleading, but she couldn’t help it. Her hands wrapped tightly around her mug, still almost entirely full, “We could have kept going on the same way,” she challenged, because it just didn’t make sense, still. They’d both been unhappy for days, when Margaery just could have told her the truth, “It was something that worked for us and we could have worked it out–”

“You keep saying I can’t choose what is right for you, but Sansa, please listen to yourself!” Margaery snapped, turning swiftly back to her, and Sansa nearly jumped back at the intensity. She wasn’t angry, no, but her voice was _begging_ , “How would it have worked? I win this election and we completely dial back every public interaction we ever have?”

It wasn’t _ideal_ , of course, but their private moments, the ones with just them, were enough. They had been more than enough for Sansa, for the most part, “For now, yes. It would have worked. Instead of just choosing to – to end everything on the drop of a hat. And I’ve never asked you for anything in public.”

Gods, she knew this was so far beyond any sort of _friends with benefits_ , and she wondered now if Margaery even realized it all.

“It wasn’t going to keep working, though.” Her tone was gentler now; serious but gentle, as she leaned in a bit, “Is that really what you want, Sansa? To be my secret sex friend? Until when?” a humorless, completely miserable laugh escaped her, “When does that end? Were we just supposed to keep it going until – until everything blew up?”

There was this hopelessness about her that was so unfamiliar for Sansa to see that it was unsettling, and she… just…

_It’s blowing up right now!_ Her mind yelled, and she could feel the backs of her eyes burn with tears that demanded to be shed, and she didn’t realize they’d started falling until she looked down at the table and saw them land on her sleeve.

How did Margaery not realize? How did she not see that no, Sansa didn’t want to be her secret sex friend forever? That she didn’t want to be her secret sex friend even now, but that there was more here. That there was so much between them, that Sansa would be willing to wait out the storm with her.

“Please,” Margaery’s voice was desperate, and Sansa could see her knuckles turn white with her grip around her coffee cup, _knowing_ that Margaery wanted to reach out to her and was holding herself back, “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want. I can give you time away from me or –”

“I want you,” she whispered, and her voice broke just as she finished speaking. But she couldn’t stop herself from saying the words even if she wanted to, and for a moment everything in the world stopped.

Because she hadn’t admitted that out loud to Margaery. Never before had let herself cross that line so explicitly, but there it was, “I don’t want time away from you. I just want _you_.”

She bit so hard at her lip she was worried she might break through the skin as she wiped at her eyes with her hands, but she didn’t stop looking at Margaery. Couldn’t stop looking at her, while her heart thundered in her chest.

And Margaery…

Margaery was frozen. Big eyes blinking and full of pain and giving Sansa a _look_ that was so full. That’s all she could think of to describe it. That there was so much going on in one single look, and she could hardly even think to decipher it, “I…”

Margaery’s hands shook from where they were on the table, and Sansa saw the way she dropped them into her lap and clasped them together, tightly. As if that would stop the shaking, and give Margaery the control Sansa knew she always wanted.

And even though she was feeling this burning rejection, she was also feeling an odd strength from the release of those words. From the honesty that they finally had between them after holding herself back from saying that truth.

She grasped onto the strength with everything she had, “You know what I want,” she managed to take in a trembling breath as she asked, “What do _you_ want, Margaery? Because I really – I just don’t know.”

She had no _clue_ , honestly, because after all of this, there were parts of Margaery’s mind that confused her. And she was done being confused.

Margaery looked almost offended, now, just barely recovered from the apparent surprise of Sansa’s confession. Her voice shook from emotion even as she spoke quietly across the table to her, “You _know_ what I want. I wanted to end our arrangement before it crashed and burned too far for us to come out of it with a friendship intact.” She drew both of her hands, still shaking, through her hair, tension rolling off of her in waves so apparent, it shocked Sansa to see Margaery this stressed.

Light brown eyes darted around the café, seeming unsure of where exactly to look, before landing on Sansa again, and the tears in them now were apparently too persistent to stop, “I want – I want you to be in my life, because my life is better with you in it,” she confessed.

For one moment, everything in Sansa fell away to the background. Margaery wanted her, too. Margaery… wanted her, too, and she was admitting it, and Sansa felt like she had that one shining pocket of hope shining brighter than she’d allowed it to in days.

 Before Margaery hastily wiped at her eyes and inhaled deeply, as if reigning in control over herself, “I want _you_ , too, Sansa,” her voice sounded raw and needy, “But I just can’t… do it in the same way you want me.”

And everything inside of Sansa _twisted_ , that breathless feeling of hope being crushed happening to her all over again.

Because apparently Margaery wasn’t entirely clueless. She knew they were more, and she – what did that even mean?  Not in the same way? This churning sadness and confusion slowly melded together.

“You can’t or you won’t,” she challenged, not bothering to wipe at the tear tracks she could feel on her cheeks, as she stared at Margaery, needing the answer.  

“I’m not the same as you are,” she abjectly didn’t answer Sansa’s question; then again Sansa guessed they both knew that the answer was that she _could_ but wouldn’t. Margaery took in a deep breath that trembled, “I’m not – I don’t have this natural romantic side who wants those things you want. I’m not this person who just has _feelings_ for someone,” the word feelings fell from her lips like it was inappropriate, “And I’m certainly not someone who wants to lead on someone that I care about or make any of those promises. I’m not that person.”

Sansa’s eyebrows drew together, confusion palpable.

How did Margaery not see that she already was that person? She thought she wasn’t, but she was. All of those times they were together, where Margaery _was_ romantic. Where she would stroke her fingertips over Sansa’s back or jaw or skim them through her hair and just watch her. Where she would encourage Sansa to do everything, where she was so damn thoughtful even without meaning to be?

How did Margaery not see the way she’d made implicit promises with touches and looks and comments and – and –

“You could be that person,” she stressed, this utter _need_ inside of her demanding that Margaery just… just see the way things could be, and how easy it could be. How easy it already was.

Margaery seemed thrown, staring at Sansa in silence for a few moments, her eyes wide and searching, “I can’t be,” she stressed, her gaze falling into her lap for a moment, before she shook back her hair and stated with no uncertainty, “I’m not ready for that, Sansa. And neither is my career.”

Her career… Gods, Sansa remembered the first time they had ever made plans to hang out in person. The way Margaery had described her ambitions and what she was willing to do to make them come true. And it had seemed lonely to her, then, but it seemed impossible to her now.

“So, your career is just _everything,_ then?” she could hear her own disbelief, but – but she couldn’t understand it.

Careers were important, life goals were important. Her parents, her siblings, they had goals and dedication, and she understood that. But… 

“You knew that about me before we ever even met face to face,” Margaery shot back, eyes narrowed, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, “I’ve never hidden who I was or what I want or my goals, not from you.”

There was a hurt in there, too, that dug at Sansa a bit. But… but she couldn’t help herself, not now. Not when she understood objectively that Margaery was willing to risk being alone for her career, back when she’d first told her about her plans. Months ago.

Before everything between them.

“And nothing has ever made you question them?” her throat felt like it was on fire with the question, her nerves jangling with anticipation of the answer.

Because… _not even me_? Not even knowing that Sansa wouldn’t ever demand her to come out before she was ready, but that she wanted to just be there for her and be with her through it all. And that maybe it wasn’t entirely fool-proof, but maybe it was worth it to take the risk.

That maybe Sansa was worth the risk, maybe they were worth it.

“Nothing has ever been worth the risk,” Margaery’s voice was so quiet but so sure, that it – that was it.  

She stared at Margaery, the blood rushing in her ears, as everything crashed around her. _She wasn’t worth the risk,_ and it _burned_. It felt almost like it set everything on fire inside of her.

 “I just want everything to go back to the way it was,” Margaery finished, as desperate as Sansa had ever seen her, her voice tight.

And Sansa could only stare at her, incredulous, her stomach twisting so hard she wanted to throw up even while her thoughts ran in circles.

Because how could Margaery expect them to be friends? How could Margaery expect them to be friends when Sansa knew everything now? When she’d made Margaery come apart for her until she’d let go of all control and shouted Sansa’s name? When she’d watched the morning news with Margaery and helped her decide which earrings she should wear to her meetings? When she’d sat in the kitchen with her at two in the morning and snacked on cookies while Margaery wore her shirt and told her stories about her life?

How could she pretend she didn’t know that, now?

“I don’t think it can,” the words left her, roughly, and they _stung_ , and she was worried about what they meant.

Because, gods, she didn’t want to say goodbye to Margaery, either. She didn’t.

It seemed that whatever had been holding Margaery together fell completely apart with her words, and her eyes filled with tears and spilled over, and a sniffle that – that Sansa could have never fathomed hearing from Margaery, let alone in public. She had to look away, swallowing hard, and gripping her hands so tightly together she could feel her knuckles creak.

“Maybe not right now,” Margaery asserted, and her voice was thin and reedy, and she quickly brought her hands up, wiping at her eyes with a napkin, “But in… a couple of months. We can go back to being friends.”

She asserted it so hopefully, seeming to get herself under control decently quickly and it made no sense to Sansa, because she felt like everything was crashing around them.

“How can we? I don’t think we were ever friends,” she shook her head, because how did Margaery not see that? That sitting here, with her, was killing her?

Margaery whipped her head up, looking poleaxed. So incredibly hurt and offended, and she could hear it in her wounded voice, “How could you even say that? You’re the closest friend I’ve ever had. Even before – everything.”

Gods… Sansa scrubbed her hands over her face, that agitation from earlier coming back quickly and mingling with everything else she was feeling. The irritation worked her up, and she narrowed her eyes, “How were we ever just friends? We met on a dating app! We were… there was this attraction the whole time between us, I know there was. You said it yourself,” she emphasized, before admitting aloud for the first time, “And there were feelings in the beginning, too.”

But Margaery didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she just stared at Sansa, blinking slowly, as if she was still trying to wrap her head around Sansa declaring that they were never just friends.

When she continued to be silent, it dug in a little more, because – great, just one more thing she was alone in, then, “Fine, then, I guess it was only me who had feelings in the beginning. Great,” she scoffed, before it caught on a dry sob, and she didn’t know if she had ever felt so utterly angry and miserable in equal measure, “But I know I have them now.”

She set both of her hands on the table in front of her, and she knew, she could feel in her stomach this certainty that this was it, that it was now or never, and the words came out in an anguished whisper, “I can’t be your friend, because I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you.”

A dead silence fell between them for a few moments and Sansa didn’t know if she had ever felt like she was on such a free fall as she did right in that moment.

There. Everything was out.

As Margaery just stared at her, swallowing repeatedly, her eyes wide, “Sansa,” her voice just above a breath, and so full of pain and warmth, and it was the warmth that broke her.

Margaery wasn’t – there was no winning, here. This was it. She wasn’t worth any risk to Margaery’s career, because apparently nothing was, not even this connection they’ve built, and she couldn’t do this anymore.

She couldn’t sit here, with her entire body feeling like it was in turmoil, with her heart feeling like it was about to pound out of her ribcage, so full of this painful _love_ for Margaery, who was still just, staring at her.

She stood up, shaking as she stared down at Margaery and, “I’m in love with you and that’s not just going to go away because we aren’t sleeping together.” Taking a deep breath, as deep as she could, she shook her head, “I’m in love with you and I think… I think maybe you love me, too. Or you could, and I think you’re just too scared to do anything about it.”

Everything inside of her demanded she get out of there as fast as she could, because even saying those words, confessing it felt like too much. But she waited, staring at Margaery and begging her inside, to just say yes. To say that Sansa wasn’t wrong.

Margaery only took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked away, and it was too much and not enough, and she had to leave.

She didn’t let herself look back at Margaery, not once, no matter how much the voice inside of her wanted so badly for Margaery to get up and chase her. She wanted it, but unlike a few days ago, she didn’t actually believe it would happen.

There was no hope. The band-aid was completely gone.

And she was _angry._

The slightly chilly air whipped around her, and did nothing to soothe the way her blood pounded through her veins or how she couldn’t hear anything over the rushing in her ears.

It was the anger carried her home, blind to nearly anything else going on around her.

She was angry with Margaery. So _angry_ with Margaery, for ending something that she knew would have been so beautiful. Something that already was beautiful.

Angry at her for not giving them a chance, and not having any faith.

She was angry with Margaery for agreeing to it in the first place, for agreeing to this arrangement months ago, when apparently, she thought it was always only going to end in disaster.

She yanked the door to her apartment open, her hand shaking and stomach rolling so harshly, she thought she was going to be sick.

Because mostly, she was angry with herself.

For starting this whole thing, because Margaery was right. It had been her who initiated this. It h had been her who wanted this in the first place, who went to Margaery’s and insisted that they sleep together. It had been her who had suggested they be _friends_ with benefits, despite the disastrous way their first time together had gone.

It had been her who was so disgustingly naïve, who thought this could just work out just because she was in love with her, in spite of everything she knew about Margaery. In spite of the fact that she _respected_ Margaery’s drive, and she – what? Expected that she should just throw it away, for her? For Sansa?

She was so angry with herself. For being an idiot this whole time and deluding herself that Margaery felt the same way and that if she did, that something good would come of it.

She felt like she was burning and alive, as she shut the door behind her. Still so wound up, that it didn’t hit her about why she’d been avoiding this for the last few days right away.

Not even as Jeyne shouted out, “Sansa? Are you home? My gods, I’ve missed you. I even brought you home a whole lemon cake from the café last night.”

She barely registered anything until she stood in the doorway of the living room, breathing heavy and eyes stinging, as she saw Jeyne on the couch.

Her best friend had the remote in hand, grinning from ear to ear, “I’m so excited! We should order a pizza and watch –”

Sansa didn’t know what it was about that exact moment.

Maybe it was because everything with Margaery – how raw it all felt, her admitting that she was in love with her, and how it was definitely _so_ over – tore away any semblance of numbness and hope.

Maybe it was because hearing Jeyne and seeing her sitting on their couch, talking to her like she always did, reminded her so strongly of why she’d been avoiding her since this all happened.

Because this was _home_ and she was safe here, and suddenly there was no more anger.

It was so fast, she felt her knees go weak, because it felt like everything inside of her was breaking open. Every last thread she’d been holding onto snapped and she swayed in place.

“Sansa? What’s wrong?” the urgency in Jeyne’s voice, the utter concern, was the final straw.

Her arms felt uselessly at her sides, as all of the tears she’d been trying to keep at bay for _days_ broke through, and she felt like she could barely even breathe through it.

She couldn’t see through her tears, but she heard and felt Jeyne jump off the couch, rushing to her, “What? What is it? Is everyone okay?”

Her friends arms wrapped around her tightly, and Sansa leaned into her, sobs wracking her body. She should have told Jeyne everything from the beginning. She should have – gods, she was the worst and everything was falling apart, and she shook her head.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m so sorry,” was all she managed to get out on a broken whisper, hiccupping as Jeyne’s arms just banded even tighter around her, keeping them both up.

She could feel her whole body shaking as she sank into her best friend, into the comfort here, and the words left her on shudders and cries, “I – I applied for an internship in Volantis. Months ago. And I never told you. And I got in,” she wanted to pull away, to look Jeyne in the eye when she said it. “I’m sorry. I won’t even g-go, I shouldn’t go.”

But Jeyne only held on to her, shaking her head, “We’ll figure it out! It’s okay,” she tried to soothe her, but with the warm way she rubbed circles into her back, Sansa could only cry harder.

“And you were right. Margaery d-doesn’t want to be with me. I’m in love with her and she doesn’t want to be with me and it’s over and I just didn’t want to tell you. And I love her so much, I really do, and –” she broke herself off on a cry, burying her face into Jeyne’s neck, shaking, as she managed to whisper, “Please don’t say you told me so. Please.”

She couldn’t handle it. She just couldn’t.

Jeyne stroked her hair, “Never.”

“Everything’s a mess,” she barely managed to get out. It would have been too good to be true for it all to have worked out easily; she should have known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know all of your thoughts and feelings and opinions! Also... I can promise this is the most angst that you are in for, whew. 
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH for the response so far, the response to the last chapter was incredible!


	22. Sleight Of Hand And Twist Of Fate

Margaery came out to her grandmother the summer she’d turned seventeen.

Olenna had been a year into her first term as Prime Minister and Margaery had gotten her first internship at the Red Keep, and thus had spent the summer living in King’s Landing with her grandmother.

It had been _everything_ to her at the time; she’d loved being able to sit in on the meetings, loved the energy buzzing around her, loved getting to listen firsthand to what her grandmother was doing professionally. It was her first real not-glamorized taste of a future she’d fantasized about for even a few years before that and…

It was even better than she’d imagined.

It made her hungry for more.

It had made her a bit worried.

Because she’d fully realized and accepted her sexuality the year prior; it had been only natural after hooking up with Alyson Caswell – the resident head cheerleader – and a few other girls, too – to confirm that her lack of interest in boys was more than her lack of desire to date or her disinclination to take a night off from an extracurricular or rearrange the schedule she’d accustomed herself to, to make time for someone new in her life.

No, she still had those feelings… but also found that working in a few hours every so often to flirt with the pretty girls at school was worth the time now and then. It’d been easy to accept; even as a teenager, she’d had enough confidence in herself to feel no shame in her attraction to women.

It had only been after sitting in on a meeting and overhearing the latest gossip – about how Sabitha Vypren had seemed to be a lock for becoming the first female Warden of the Riverlands, and how she’d lost by a margin of votes, in a completely unexpected turn, after having been caught having an affair with a woman with less than a month left before – that left Margaery feeling particularly uncharacteristically anxious.

It had led Margaery to come out to her grandmother over their late-night tea, prompted by her grandmother frowning at her as she’d spoken in her brash voice, “We’ve certainly got to work on your poker face. What’s on your mind?”

She’d taken a deep breath, only now worried about what her grandmother would say or what she’d think, before setting her jaw – because what Olenna hated more than anything was a coward – and confessing to what was on her mind.

It had come out in somewhat of a halting ramble, something Margaery hadn’t done often even as a teenager, about her sexuality and Sabitha Vypren’s election.

Her grandmother had taken a few beats in a thoughtful silence, with Margaery staring at her and eating up every fractional difference in her expression, before she’d simply nodded and astutely surmised, “And you’re worried about what that means for your future.”

When Margaery nodded, feeling nervous and uncertain for the first time about this future she’d already decided she wanted, Olenna had sighed. Then taken a moment as she’d pursed her lips before speaking quietly, but firmly. In the way that told Margaery that she was speaking to her in an honest way that most adults avoided with teenagers, “Well, you know I’m not going to lie to you. It does make the future more complicated.” She lifted an eyebrow at her, before holding her gaze, “And you’ll already have to be fighting harder for what you want than the men in this field, regardless of who you’re attracted to.”

Which – hadn’t been what she wanted to hear at all, but she also loved that her grandmother would never sugarcoat anything for her. Staring intently into her tea, she clenched her teeth, “I just don’t get it.”

Because, who cared about all of this? What did it matter who someone wanted to sleep with, when there were so many _bigger_ things to think about? And didn’t anyone who fell in love have to deal with that stupid distraction from that bigger picture, no matter who it was with?

Something in her stomach had coiled and shifted, and she’d clenched both of her fists, “What’s so great about _love_ , anyway?”

Because as far as Margaery knew, the people she knew who were all googly-eyed over _love_ , at school or even in the Keep from this internship, were absolute idiots. It frustrated her whenever she saw her peers acting like unfocused fools. She’d both seen firsthand and read so many books about politicians and historical figures to know that getting tangled up in feelings led both men and women – straight or gay or spectrum in between – to a messy downfall.

She’d lifted her head again, her expression determined as she’d looked at her grandmother with searching eyes, “Grandfather died before you even ran for High Council,” she barely had any memories of him, as he’d died when she’d been five, and even as a young child, she’d always been far closer to her grandmother than to him or anyone else, “And you didn’t need him to get to where you are.”

Her grandmother’s eyes had narrowed in thought for a moment, before a smile tugged at her mouth – a small one of approval, one that almost no one else got to see, that always made Margaery feel special, “My little rose, you’re young yet, but you’ve so much insight already.”

Olenna had sat across from her on the balcony of her penthouse, her eyes alight with what Margaery believed was all of the wisdom in the world, as she told her, “The world wants to sell the lie, especially to beautiful young women like you, that love is the pinnacle of what you should aspire to. But know, my girl, that there’s so much more for you than to look forward to than that. In the grand scheme of this life, you have all the power to control your fate if you make the smart choices.”

Margaery shook her head pulling her mind out of the past as she looked down at her cup of coffee; that conversation with her grandmother had been on her mind a lot lately.

The words, the advice, had stuck with her for years and had given her quite a lot of comfort, especially in the past whenever she’d ever had fleeting moments of doubt.

She’d tried to draw strength on them in the last three and a half weeks, the way she had in the past.

It just… wasn’t working as well as it had before.

Blowing out a breath, she rolled her shoulders, murmuring, “Refocus,” as she reached for a pen and tapped it once against the edge of the notepad she was using to create her list.

The list in question was a list of anecdotes she’d been compiling for the last few days. With only ten days left until the election, everything was coming down to the wire.

She’d done another interview two weeks ago, made a speech a couple of days after that.

Her last debate with Cersei had been last week, which had thankfully gone blessedly smoother than the one before it. She had to figure that of course Cersei would keep trying to make a few digs into her love life, but during that debate it hadn’t filled Margaery with fear again.

There was nothing to find out, anymore. No way to be outed.

She hadn’t seen Sansa in weeks.

Hadn’t heard a word from her. Had gotten no long, rambling messages about her day. Hadn’t had any late night debates about lemon cakes versus ice cream. Hadn’t had any warm and sleepy _goodnights_ whispered just before falling asleep.

Which, was – it was her choice, she reminded herself, and it had to be done.

Even if, no, she hadn’t been entirely prepared for this complete ending to her entire friendship with Sansa or the giant impact she’d be feeling for these weeks afterwards. She hadn’t been able to foresee Sansa sitting across from her in tears, heartbroken and angry at her…

Confessing her love to her.

But damn it, how could she be emotionally prepared for that? She hadn’t been prepared for anything Sansa had thrown at her, ever, just by being in her life. There was – gods, there was simply no way she could have known Sansa was in love with her. That Sansa would just… admit it.

It made her want to cry just thinking about it, for many jumbled reasons, and that was utterly ridiculous.

Sansa _loved_ her. Was in love with her. Gods, everything in Margaery had frozen at that. It was the strangest, most wonderful, most painful feeling to hear Sansa say – that. Where her heart skipped a beat, and then her chest had seemed to feel so warm in a way she could have never fathomed.

Before the reality of it all came crashing down and that warmth was crushed with this hollowed _shock_. That was it. All of her potential hopes about friendship and somehow maintaining having Sansa in her life, was gone with those words.

She’d already been barely holding it all together, by seeing Sansa, looking so wrecked. Wrecked because of her. She’d been frustrated with Sansa’s inability to see how much keeping their arrangement going and keeping everything a secret would eventually hurt Sansa, too.

And when Sansa had then completely stunned her by saying that they’d never been friends… fuck. Margaery had barely been able to remind herself that they were in a public place, that anyone could be watching, enough to hold back the tears that burned at the back of her eyes.

It felt somewhat that she’d been robbed of something, now. Something precious.

She could see it, too, written all over Sansa’s achingly beautiful face in that moment. That there really was no going back to whatever friendship she’d cherished and thought they’d had.

Sansa was in love with her. And Margaery had no idea how to be in love, let alone how to be in love with Sansa and have her best odds at accomplishing her dreams.

The remains of the world they’d built between the two of them came crashing down in a matter of minutes, it seemed, and she hadn’t been able to manage to think of any words. Let alone how to actually say anything.

She’d done exactly as she’d set out _not_ to do, and had broken Sansa’s heart. It ate at her, taking away her appetite while her stomach felt tangled in knots ever since it had happened. She wouldn’t be hearing from her. Ever again. And that made her ache in ways she didn’t want to think about.

Ways she couldn’t think about. She couldn’t.

So. During her debate this time, she’d just been filled with this same hollowed feeling that had taken up residence in her chest and had remained as impassive and ruthless in her answers, with none of the easy, polite smiles she’d allowed before. It had been almost alarmingly simple to do.

And unlike winning her first two debates – where the feeling of triumph, pride, and sheer happiness came with her victory – she’d felt… tired.

Proud, of course. Successful, yes. The smile on her face that was features on the news segment afterwards had been entirely genuine. But also, exhausted. The very last thing she’d wanted that night was to go out with Loras and Renly or even to have a late dinner with her grandmother; instead, she’d gone home and poured herself a drink and promptly gone to bed.

Clearing her throat, Margaery straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at her list.

Anyway.

Now, with those less than two weeks left until the election, King’s Landing News would be circulating in a few days, in Sunday’s issue with full, “every angle” profiles on both her and Cersei. She knew part of what would be somewhat expected from her in the profile would be regarding her life beyond politics, and she wanted to be prepared to share some personal stories, but personal stories that weren’t _too_ personal, of course.

She’d chosen a small handful, ranging from meaningful to humorous, some regarding her family, some about school, and some about her experiences in climbing up the ladder so far.

One she certainly didn’t need to bring up in any universe was about coming out to her grandmother.

“My gods, with that level on concentration, I’m shocked you haven’t not only conquered the entire country, but also laser-vision,” Renly’s voice jarred her a bit, and she just managed to stop herself from jolting in surprise, looking up just in time to see him fully walk into her area of the office. 

“Ha-ha,” she rolled her eyes, before glancing up at the clock, “What time is it? I thought you’d left a little while ago.”

“Just after six,” Renly perched his hip at the corner of her desk, “I just finished up the monthly –”

“Department director’s meeting, right,” she murmured, shaking her head at herself. She _knew_ that was today. It was almost embarrassing to have forgotten it, honestly, especially because on most months she, as the assistant director, would accompany him.

Renly just shrugged, “You didn’t miss much, the same old stuff. I just wanted to stop in here on my way out, check on you before the big interview. But I can leave you to your final,” he checked his watch, “Seventeen minutes of prep time.”

“No,” she stopped him before he could even really go even a step away, and she blew out a sigh, meeting his questioning look, “I wasn’t really concentrating as well as you might have thought.” She gave him a self-deprecating grin that felt far lighter than she truly did, “My mind has been… drifting,” she settled on. But she _knew_ that would lead to his look of questioning, and she diverted the topic, “Thanks, again, for letting me use the office for the profile interview. And making sure it was cleared out with plenty of time to spare.”

He grinned back, offering a shrug, “Well, this is to get a full profile of who you are, and you are nothing if not dedicated to the Keep. And,” he lowered his voice, eyes twinkling with humor that worked a bit to make her smile somewhat more genuine, “It might come as a shock to you, but most people who work here actually don’t need to be convinced by their boss to go home by five.”

Now her scoffing laugh was real, “Shut up.”

She looked back down at her notepad, before laying down her pen for good. Missandei and her small team would be there in under twenty minutes, so these anecdotes would have to do. She had plenty, anyway, and it would probably be best for her to take the slight break. Give herself a moment to settle.

Renly’s eyes flickered down to the paper, “Finish prepping for the profile, I take it?”

Margaery mentally ran through the list of everything she’d needed to prepare, “I’ve my personal-but-not-too-personal anecdotes here. I know all of my platforms and stances backwards and forwards. And Missandei’s a good journalist; I’m not concerned about maintaining a rapport. If all goes well, it should be relatively quick, and let me come out looking decent.”

And she couldn’t foresee any reason that it wouldn’t go well. Which was, at the very least, a small comfort.

“Good. I have no doubts that in three days time, I’ll read the paper and your profile next to Cersei’s, and be only one of the thousands who are going to vote you in. And since we’re both sure it’s going to go so well, that means you’ll be in a good place to take the day off tomorrow and bask in the glory of a job well done,” Renly crossed his arms, sitting on the edge of her desk.

Now, Margaery really did laugh, shaking her hair back, “Oh, right, yes. I’ll be taking the day tomorrow. Sure.”

Her best friend’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not joking, Margaery. You’re taking the day off tomorrow.”

Margaery rolled her eyes, “And why would I do that?” She had a whole laundry list of things she should get done tomorrow.

“Because I told you to,” his tone was Renly-serious, and she could tell by the look on his face that he was utterly serious.

Which was just confusing, and she lifted her eyebrows at him in question, “I have work to do.”

Renly let out a bark of laughter, “All of the work you could possibly have to do here for the next _two weeks_ is already essentially done!” Shaking his head, he sobered and leaned forward to hold eye contact with her, interrupting before she could argue with him, “Margaery, you’ve been here before seven in the morning every day for the last few weeks, and you’ve been staying until well past six every night, on top of juggling your campaign duties. You’ve been coming in on the weekends. As your boss, I’m telling you that you aren’t going to show your face here tomorrow.”

“As my boss, shouldn’t you be glad that you have such a dedicated employee?” she shot back, quirking her eyebrow in challenge.

“Maybe,” he conceded after a moment, before dropping his head and shaking it for a moment, “But as your _friend_ , I’m worried about you. You’ve always been dedicated to the department, and that’s a part of what has made you so incredible as an employee. But… you need a break.”

They stared at one another for a few moments, and she _wanted_ to argue with him. She had a half-written report that wasn’t even technically hers to write – it was one that the office took turns handing off because it was fairly routine and tedious, and it wasn’t due for almost a month – sitting in her desk drawer that was the most pressing matter she had to attend to.

But she felt this _need_ to revolt against what he was saying, and she narrowed her eyes at him, pursing her lips.

Because Margaery didn’t even know how to begin to explain that the very last thing she needed right now, was a break.

That she’d been spending every waking moment in the last few weeks trying to keep as busy as possible – at work and on her campaign, wherever she could – because whenever she had downtime, she thought of Sansa.

Having free time made her _feel_ everything she was desperately trying to put up a wall against and get over.

How did she explain to him that free time led her to nights like last night, where she’d been unable to fall asleep, and instead had broken down and looked at Sansa’s Instagram, after she’d not let herself do that in over two weeks? That she’d been avoiding looking at any social media that could possibly tempt her to snap her control and check up on how Sansa was doing. That she knew Sansa’s birthday was last week – and she had the gift she’d gotten her over a month ago still taunting her from the depths of her closet, where she’d hidden it – and she both wanted so badly to see how it had been but also knew it would just hurt even more.

For the record, it had hurt even more. Sansa appeared to have gone out with Jeyne and Mya and _Elia Sand_ , and she looked beautiful, and… Margaery couldn’t be a part of it.

How could she possibly put into words that she was waking up by five without an alarm because she just kept dreaming about the way Sansa confessed _I’m so in love with you_ , and how it had made everything inside of Margaery come to a screaming halt. And that by constantly keeping busy throughout the day made it easier for her to go home and drop into sleep without having time to let herself think about the way everything inside of her felt.

How did she even begin to describe to Renly that Margaery needed to be here, in the Keep, taking meetings and checking on developments and working on her campaign, because she couldn’t be alone with her thoughts right now?

How could she explain that to anyone, when she’d spent her entire life priding herself on not being that person? The one who cried as she looked at her… at Sansa’s social media, because she couldn’t sleep with the aching emptiness and her memories?

 She’d spent her entire adult life building her control and boundaries and carefully evading every situation where she would end up as this person, and now here she was, anyway.

“I don’t need a break,” was what she finally settled on, quietly but firmly, steadfastly holding Renly’s eye.

He gave her an incredulous look, “Margaery, if you’ve gotten more than five hours of sleep in a single night in the last few weeks, then I’m a Dothraki Khal of yesteryear. You need a break, and you’re taking it tomorrow. And once you’re finished with your interview, you’re not staying here later than need-be, either. You’re doing work that technically won’t even need to be done until after you’re out of this office and working on the council.”

Margaery pulled her hair back and out of the way as she gave him an exasperated sigh, “I think you’re being a little dramatic, _boss_.”

Instead of giving her another talking-to in his stern voice and the look she was used to going with it, where his forehead was all scrunched up – Renly was quiet for a moment. Before he looked up and tilted his head at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a small smile.

She stared back, lifting an eyebrow in question, because where was that even coming from?

Renly just shook his head for a moment, before reaching out and placing his fingertips on the notepad in front of her, tapping lightly, “You know, five years ago, I was barely thirty, and I’d just become the director of this department.”

Margaery took a minute to let the words roll around in her mind, but the confusion was still there, “I know…”

He continued, unfazed, looking over her shoulder at his closed office door, “There I was, wanting to prove myself, when a position opened up and a resume landed on my desk.” He looked back at her, “A young woman just out of college, but with an entire page of internships and jobs in the Keep already under her belt – but impressive as it was, I saw the last name and thought… did I really want this woman, young and idealistic, likely headstrong and opinionated, the granddaughter of the Prime Minister to be the first one I personally hired?”

“Probably not,” she afforded, tilting her head in acknowledgement, now curious about where this was going. She’d never heard this before, and she was grateful for the distraction.

Gods only knew she could use a good distraction lately.

“Probably not,” he agreed with a lopsided grin, before linking his fingers over his knee and rocking back, “But you had the education, some experience, and glowing recommendations, so an interview was guaranteed.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but remained silent as Renly shook his head at the memory.

“I was _convinced_ that I wasn’t going to hire you. Then was even more convinced when it was three minutes past the interview time and you weren’t yet in my office. And that was when I looked out from my office and saw that you _were_ here –”

“Oh, gods,” she groaned, shaking her head at her past-self. Then again, it made her smirk; because she still wouldn’t do anything differently. Probably.

Renly grinned now, laughter in his voice, “And I saw that you’d walked right into a team meeting and instead of just walking by them and into your interview, you stopped. You asked what they were stuck on, and you jumped in. In twenty minutes, you had helped members of this department delve into the groundwork for a new proposal, and you weren’t even employed yet.” Now, he actually laughed, and the memory made her genuinely happier than she’d been in a few weeks.

After a moment, Renly sighed, and his smile faded a bit as he nodded slowly, “I knew in that moment that, regardless of my doubts and worries, if I didn’t hire you, you’d get another job in the Keep in a heartbeat and that my department would miss out.”

When he paused, she leaned forward, reaching for his hand. Because this was something she hadn’t known she wanted to hear, but it really was. “Renly –”

But he held his hand up, shaking his head, “I knew that you that day, that you had a spark. That you had the intelligence and the drive, but also that extra… _thing_ about you. But I didn’t know that you’d so easily become my right-hand here, that you’d become a friend.”

No, she hadn’t had any idea about that either. That Renly would be important in her life in any way beyond professional, and now, he was essentially her in-law.

“And I definitely didn’t know then that you were going to be not only the youngest small council member ever elected, but that you’re going to be the youngest female, lesbian small council member ever elected,” there was a certainty in his voice that weighed heavily in her, in a good way. He put his hand down, now, over hers, “I didn’t know how much you were going to change the world, Margaery, but I do now. And I want you to know that in these last few years, it’s been an honor to have worked with you.”

Damn it all to the seven, she felt this welling of gratefulness inside of her, and it was almost overwhelming. No, it _was_ overwhelming, and she tried to laugh it off, “An honor, sure. I _am_ idealistic and headstrong and opinionated, so you were right on that front.”

“An _honor_ ,” he interrupted, nodding solemnly as he squeezed her hand. He met her eyes with his own and she knew he was as serious as he could be.

It broke a piece inside of her that had been holding tenuously on, and her eyes filled with tears, “You absolute sap,” she chuckled, but it was shamefully watery as she pulled her hand back and brought both of them up to wipe her eyes as carefully as she could under them with her thumbs, trying to maintain her makeup.

His hand landed on her shoulder and rubbed and she took in a tremulous breath, forcefully closing her eyes and willing the tears to stop. _Needing_ for them to stop, before it got out of control, “I’m sorry, for this. Lately I’m so –” she cut herself off, unwilling… unable to admit aloud how close these tears were to the surface in the last few weeks.

Ever since she’d had a Sansa-shaped hole in her life.

“There’s no shame in having feelings,” he spoke softly, handing her a tissue from the desk next to hers.

Margaery rolled her eyes, using her phone to assure that her makeup hadn’t run, even though her eyes were still glassy and her stomach was still in knots, for just… so many reasons. “Come on.”

“There’s not,” he insisted, “Especially when you have so many high-stress situations going on. With the election closing in and…”

A mirthless chuckle escaped her, even as her heart lurched painfully in her chest. “Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I truly do admire you and how gods damn strong you are,” he finished with.

She accepted it with a small nod, closing her eyes tightly for a moment. His words were a double-edged sword, this admission of admiration. She needed to hear that, in a way, far more than she’d realized.

Because for the first time in a long time, it was hard for her to admire herself, when she’d been feeling the way she’d been feeling the last few weeks. It was hard to admire herself when she could so easily, viscerally recall how much she’d hurt Sansa.

And, as she would only let herself admit in the dead of night, how much she was hurting herself.

She just, she had to keep this in mind. This was all for a reason.

The door to the office was thrown open, and this time, Margaery couldn’t stop herself from spinning quickly in her chair, bewildered as she saw Olenna bustling through the doorway, “Grandmother?”

“Excellent,” Olenna huffed out a breath, walking impatiently through the desks, “That journalist –”

“Missandei?” she asked, standing up to meet her grandmother halfway despite her confusion.

“Of course,” she waved a hand, “Are you expecting another one this evening?”

“I’m just going to excuse myself for the night. Good luck, on the interview,” Renly winked at her, before giving her grandmother a nod. She acknowledged him with another wave, very similar to the one she’d used when dismissing Missandei’s name.

It was easy, thankfully, to curb the emotional spiral she’d been on, with her grandmother’s frank attitude. It always seemed to help her, and she took a deep breath through her nose as she smiled at Renly, waving him off.

“That journalist is getting her photographer and intern through security downstairs, so we don’t have much time to discuss the matter, but I’ve just gotten word of the final pre-polling numbers,” she cast her eyes around Margaery’s office then, making sure they were alone.

Her heart pounded as she watched her, trying to discern whether her grandmother’s intensity was good or bad, “And?”

“And, my dear girl, you’re leading the poll at an outstanding twenty-two percent,” the gleam in Olenna’s eyes wasn’t one that was frequently there, and even when it was, not many were privy to seeing it. “Four percentage points down from the poll done a couple of months ago, but that’s hardly more than an error margin.”

Gods, but Margaery almost wanted to collapse with the relief that coursed through her at the words. Her legs suddenly didn’t feel as strong, and she leg her head fall back, feeling a weight leave her shoulders.

Of course, she knew that there was still over a week left and that numbers could change on a dime – she’d be a fool to ever let herself believe otherwise and become complacent. But this was…

She blew out a deep breath, her hand reaching for and squeezing her grandmother’s without thought, and she took comfort in her grandmother’s strong grip squeezing back.

“I had no doubt, naturally, but with all of the things Cersei Lannister wants to try to spread around, the reassurance is always necessary,” her voice was strong, almost terse in her annoyance, and she found comfort in that as well.

Rolling out her shoulders, Margaery shook her head, “This is really good news to start my interview off with,” she sighed out, before giving her grandmother’s hands one more squeeze, and pulling back.

She took in another breath, feeling this settle over her like somewhat of a balm. It didn’t make this pain she’d been feeling for weeks _better_ – if only – but it gave her a moment of focus and clarity.

When she opened her eyes, she expected to be met with that same determined smile on her grandmother’s face that she’d been wearing a minute ago.

Instead, she was being given a speculative frown that gave her pause, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Olenna scoffed, “That’s all you have to say? By gods, I had this expedited to my office before the numbers break on tonight’s news, running on my elderly bones down to your department –”

She couldn’t have rolled her eyes any harder if she tried, “Don’t try to make it sound like you don’t power walk every morning for an hour.”

As expected, her grandmother ignored her comment, “And your response to leading a poll at twenty-two percent is that it’s great news to start your interview off with?”

Margaery stared at her for a beat, wondering if there was more forthcoming, before reiterating, “It _is_ a great way to start my profile.”

Olenna’s eyes narrowed at her, and with the close-look, Margaery very nearly wilted back. She maintained her posture though, wondering what exactly it was that her grandmother was trying to read from her. Or, was reading from her; Olenna Tyrell’s perception was never a _trying_ game.

Who else would she have learned to read people from, after all.

“Yes, it is,” her grandmother’s tone was clipped and dismissive and comforting in how typical it was. But then she titled her head slightly, lips moving into a thin line for a moment before her voice softened just a bit, “But you aren’t happy.”

She hadn’t expected to be _surprised_ , and yet, here she was. Pulling back a bit, Margaery let out a disbelieving laugh as she shook her head, “What? Of course, I’m happy.”

The polling numbers did make her happy, and she lifted her eyebrows in question at her grandmother.

Who huffed out an impatient breath, “There’s a difference between being happy _about something_ and being _happy_. One of them is fleeting.”

The words were unexpected and they weren’t said sharply, but she felt them as if they were sharp, panging in her chest.

Olenna pursed her lips for a moment, observing her, “You make it sound as if I wouldn’t recognize when my own granddaughter is happy. If I had told you that you would have this lead on Cersei at the very beginning of this election, your eyes would have lit up. You’d have had trouble hiding exactly how damn happy you’d be, and don’t even try to deny it to me.”

She… was right. Margaery couldn’t deny it, not to the women who saw it all.

Her grandmother took a step forward, her eyes critical and as always, watching, “And don’t try to deny that you’ve been spending less time with me in the last couple of weeks, either. Do you think my memory is going, or did you believe I wouldn’t have noticed that you canceled our Sunday plans for two weeks in a row?”

 “As if your memory will ever go,” she side-stepped, biting her cheek against the guilt.

Because of course her grandmother was right; she had canceled on her for two weeks in a row. She’d made sure to stop in and see her grandmother several times throughout the week, as was normal. They’d talked and had tea and touched-base. But always – _always_ – for short periods of time.

It was easier that way, just for now. Just until she was over this heartache, until she was back to normal. Where there would be nothing for her astute grandmother to notice about her emotional state.

In all honesty, Margaery wasn’t sure exactly how much she could handle her grandmother, of all people, noticing just how much pain she was feeling right now.

Olenna crossed her arms, “You’ve been off for weeks, and I thought at first it was because of election stress.”

Margaery sighed, not letting herself reach up and rub at her temples, at the headache that seemed to be brewing for weeks now. If she allowed herself that, she might not be able to stop herself from dropping her head into her hands and just – hiding there. For just a few moments.

“But it’s not the election at all. It’s that Stark girl; you miss her,” came her grandmother’s frank assessment, and Margaery’s head snapped to face her directly, eyes wide.

That was about as much as she’d heard anyone in her life mention Sansa in the last few weeks. Which was probably for the best, she knew. Because she certainly hadn’t wanted to talk about her. Wasn’t even sure if she could.  

About how she’d broken Sansa’s heart, how she swore she could have seen it breaking to a million pieces between them while Margaery’s had beat so hard she thought it would give out in her chest.

About how Sansa had crashed through every rule and had been so _brave_ and reckless and beautiful and damning, denouncing their friendship and their rules and declaring her feelings before walking away from her.

About how Margaery hadn’t known just how much it hurt to have someone walk away when you cared about them so much. How she hadn’t known just how long her heart could ache like this.

She felt caught, somehow, with her grandmother’s knowing eyes on hers, and she swore she could read everything Margaery was feeling. Everything she’d been pulling a curtain over for the last few weeks and trying to get over.

And this time, she had to break the eye contact, taking in a sharp breath as she stared just over Olenna’s shoulder.

Those tears, the ones that had been one step away from the surface for weeks, that she’d been swallowing back every day, burned at the back of her eyes again as she shrugged, “Well. That’s neither here nor there, is it?”

And it _hurt_ to admit, but even living that truth silently wasn’t helping her in the least. It wasn’t making this heartache go away any faster. Missing Sansa, wanting her to be in her life, was never even in question.

They sat in deafening silence for a few seconds, while Margaery knit back her composure inch by inch. This place, the Keep, was no place for – all of this. And this conversation with her grandmother was also not the right thing.

And yet, she couldn’t help but rub her hands over her thighs, watching her own hands intently, as she murmured, “Don’t worry. I’m doing the smartest thing for both of us.”

Her words sounded hoarse and vulnerable even to herself, because they were. But it was the truth, she reminded herself. This was the smartest course of action, and if anything, her grandmother would appreciate that.

After all, how many times in her life had she heard her grandmother talk about how glad she was that Margaery wasn’t just like the other young fools who went looking for love when there was so much _more_ out there? How proud she was of Margaery for having such a level head?

Instead of responding though, telling her how proud she was of her or… anything, she just looked at her for a few long moments, “I’m sorry.”

Margaery snorted in derision, a sound that surprised them both, “Please don’t pretend that you even liked her, grandmother. I know you didn’t.” It made her chest ache to even think back to that night, but now she was, and she rubbed at her throat for a moment, wishing her voice wasn’t going so hoarse, “You only met her the one time and you barely spoke to her for ten minutes.”

And – she wasn’t even necessarily upset about that. She knew Sansa had so much more to offer than her grandmother could see in her initial assessment, that her grandmother also was critical of her brothers, of their spouses, of trusted coworkers, of heads of state. She didn’t begrudge her grandmother of that.

But it didn’t mean she wanted to hear about it right now.

She took a deep breath, as deep as she could when her throat was feeling tight, and the words came out even before she thought them all the way through, “And she’s in love with me.”

Oh. Saying it… hearing herself acknowledge it aloud hurt more than she’d thought it would, and she blinked a few times, shaking her head as if it would shake away any possible tears.

“Or she _was_ , at least,” it had been almost a month since Margaery had just _stared_ at her in silence and let her walk away from her, after all.

Her hand clenched into a fist, one that was far too tight, but it almost felt good to have her nails digging into her palm. It gave her enough strength to clear her throat and allow herself to shrug, “And it’s probably for the best if she’s realized she isn’t in love with me or if that’s all stopped now because she realized who I’ve been all along.” The thoughts she’d had during those moments where she was utterly alone with herself and nothing to occupy her mind rushed to the forefront of her mind, “Too career-oriented or too driven, too ambitious. And maybe just a bit too selfish, for her to be in love with.”

Her breath caught for a moment, and she made herself straighten her spine  

“I know you’re disappointed in me. It wasn’t what I planned,” she spoke softly shaking her head at herself as she tipped it back for a moment to look up at the ceiling, “It all… got so out of control without my even realizing it.”

Which was the utter truth and something Margaery hated admitting. She hated knowing that it was an idea that she had a feeling that this entire friends with benefits thing would spiral out of control from the start and against her better judgment she did it anyway.

And it cost her everything.

Her breath came out trembling as she felt her grandmother’s fingertips under her chin, tilting her head back to look at her, “First of all, my girl, your head should always be held high,” she tapped her fingers lightly at Margaery’s chin as if it was a command, and Margaery’s lips twitched even as she had to reach up once more to wipe under her eyes.

One of the last things she wanted was to be judged by her grandmother for being in this situation, when it was already hard enough.

Olenna’s eyes held hers for a long moment, before her grandmother let out a long sigh and she leaned back against Margaery’s desk, “I was never in love with your grandfather.”

Surprised – and curious – it took Margaery a moment to catch up to the non-sequitur, “What?”

Olenna shrugged, her eyebrows furrowing for a moment as she repeated, “I was never in love with your grandfather. He was a kind man. Good-looking,” she mused with a small, conspiratorial grin, “Not _un_ intelligent. He quite enjoyed getting lost in his own world and was just fine with letting me take the lead in our relationship, in our family, and even in public. Which, as you know, was not commonly the case back then. I saw my chance to marry a man that would let me be independent, and I knew that would be to my biggest advantage, so I took it.”

Margaery nodded slowly, absorbing everything. Because it wasn’t often that her grandmother spoke candidly about her grandfather; she hardly spoke of him at all. And not in a way like she wished to forget about him, but in the way that… well, it was clear that he simply wasn’t on her mind all that often. Especially not now, not when he’d been deceased for over twenty years, but not really even when Margaery had been younger.

But whenever she mentioned him in public statements or even to Margaery’s father – to her memory, in any case – it was never so _honest_.

“I never regretted that decision. I never wished I got lost in all of that nonsense. I was never wishing I found someone I fell in love with. I was in love with my career, with navigating this journey, difficult as it was. And I’ve always been proud to have you following in my footsteps,” Olenna continued, meeting Margaery’s gaze.

And Margaery’s stomach lurched because truly the very last thing she could handle right now was her grandmother telling her that she was no longer proud of her, for making this misstep, “Grandmother –”

Olenna cut her off with a look, before she continued, “But I’ve never been proud because of you choosing to be like me, Margaery. I’ve been proud because of who you are and what you want. You listen to me, my beautiful rose: I’m not disappointed in you. The only thing I do have to say is that I’ve never seen you so unhappy in your life. You might think I’m disappointed in you for this… development, but I do want you to be happy, so very much.”

The strange, tangled web of gratefulness and love and hopelessness hit her hard, “But what else can I do without losing… everything?”

Olenna was quiet for a beat before she sighed, “Just this once, I wish I had all of the answers for you. But you know I’m not one to lie; we both know there could be serious consequences to the truth, and you are the only one who can make choices and determine what exactly the smart choices are in this case.”

It shook her, more than a bit, to even hear that she should possibly think of deviating from this plan, from this live they’d cultivated for her... to take a chance at all with the high stakes they were playing with. It was nerve-wracking and unsettling and…

Margaery slowly blew out a deep breath. Somehow the crushing weight that had sat on her chest dissipated just a bit, anyway. “I’ve never been so conflicted in my life,” she confessed.

Her grandmother stared at her, lips pulling to the side in thought, “I understand more than anyone, this pull you have inside of you, for this life we’re in.” Her expression turned softer, in the rare way it did for Margaery only, as she pushed away from the desk and reached for her hand. Margaery gave it, easily, finding comfort and strength in her grandmother’s touch, “But remember that even amidst serving the public, you don’t owe them your personal life. You owe the world for you to be responsible and to be able to defend your professional and ethical choices ad nauseum. But your _life_ is yours. And if there is anyone I’ve ever known in this game who I trust will know what to do when the time is right, my girl, it’s you.”

She didn’t know at this given moment if she deserved that trust, because she’d been feeling at such a loss for _what to do_ lately. But it made her aching heart feel warm, regardless.

She squeezed her hands and Margaery squeezed back, trying to soak in as much of her grandmother’s knowledge as she could. Because for as much as they’d talked about over the years, as much as Olenna had mentored her, there was still things she hadn’t yet said.

“Thank you,” she murmured, blowing out a deep breath. She didn’t know if the words could make her feel entirely better; she didn’t think there was anything that could do that.

But it felt nice to hear, still.

Her grandmother squeezed her hands once more before dropping the hold and narrowing her eyes once more on Margaery’s face, “Now, hand me your cosmetic bag before that journalist and her team finally get past security. You can’t look like this for final interview before the election. There’s going to be a cameraman in here for the sake of the Seven.”

They had just enough time for her grandmother to – in her own words – fix Margaery’s face as she muttered about how Margaery needed to take better care of herself, heartache or not, and then for her to slip out of the side-exit of the office to avoid any run-in with Missandei, before the woman in question knocked on the door, poking her head in with a little smile.

“Sorry it took a bit of time, we got held up in security with Greg’s camera cases,” Missandei gave her a polite but warm grin.

“No problem at all, come in,” Margaery took a deep breath, shaking her head for a moment to get into the right mindset, before fixing on a well-practiced smile. “I thought we could sit at my desk, why don’t you all come in?”

Something she appreciated about Missandei, and the reason why she’d requested whenever possible thus far in the election for her to be the journalist who covered her stories so often, was that she was always prepared and even though she was warm and personable, she didn’t waste time.

Within minutes, her intern was scribbling notes and holding the recording device in their direction, while her camera man efficiently was snapped photos – of her office and herself – and Missandei was poised in the chair next to Margaery’s desk, her own notepad in front of her.

“Why don’t we start with what’s most important – your politics. Even before this election, you’ve done quite a bit of work that would suggest you are fairly socially liberal. In your own words, would you agree or disagree with that?”

Margaery nodded and took a breath as she leaned in; it was showtime.

They spoke extensively about her social views –

“I would say I’m socially liberal. There are certain things that are not up for debate, in my mind. Access to health care, to education, to housing, to food – these are basic human needs, and it’s the role of the government to make sure it’s people have access to their basic human needs.”

To delving more into her past projects –

“Yes, I’ve always been very involved in the group homes here in King’s Landing. The number of children who need homes and better services here in our nation’s capital is equal to the number of minors accessing those services in every other region, combined. It’s truly one of the reasons I sought to be employed in this department in the Keep in the first place.”

To future initiatives –

“I’m currently working on two initiatives, that I intend to keep a hand in moving forward even on the small council, involving housing projects and assistance for the homeless population, as well as a clean energy conservation. I’ve consults from several regions working as a team already on the matters.”

She damningly stumbled when Missandei finished chuckling at one of her anecdotes about her grandmother from her adolescence, and asked, “Speaking of your grandmother, one of the biggest landmark changes that has impacted our country under her leadership is, of course, the legalization of same sex marriage throughout the nation, seven years ago. Am I to assume that you have the same approval for the matter as she does? After all, it is quite personal to you.”

For a moment, she thought the world truly stopped spinning, and all she heard was a ringing in her ears because _what did she mean by that –_

“Given that your brother, Loras, is quite openly gay,” Missandei finished with.

And Margaery had to control everything inside of herself that wanted to absolutely melt with relief. She had to deliberately make her smile even warmer, because she _knew_ she was close to looking as panicked as she’d felt in that moment, “Oh, yes. He is, and my grandmother and our entire family has always been very supportive.”

In that moment, as Missandei nodded and she heard the shutter of a camera taking a picture of her smile, it was the first time she’d even felt like she was truly _hiding_ something. It made her stomach churn, uncomfortably strong, and she wanted to fidget, but instead maintained her posture.

Instead, she cleared her throat and changed the subject to share a story about herself and Loras in their college years, that she knew would easily lead into a conversation about education.

After over an hour, Missandei gave her an apologetic smile, “Everything you’ve given me so far is wonderful, Margaery. Touching both on professional and personal… but something that I’ve been pressed to ask about for this full-profile, is a bit more personal.”

Margaery maintained her grin, shaking her head easily even as she steeled herself; she was ready for anything about her personal life. “Of course.”

“As has been spoken about by your competitor in this election, you have quite the sparse dating life, at least from the view from the public eye. As someone who is young, attractive, intelligent – well, it does read as a bit peculiar. Is there anything you’d like to comment on, officially, about that?”

Yes, she could do this, and it was hardly a lie, “I do, admittedly, have a sparse dating life. I’m afraid that there isn’t much to comment on, because the truth of the matter is that I’ve always been far more focused on my career than on dating.”

Missandei sent her another smile, still apologetic though, and Margaery could tell she actually meant it, “That’s admirable, and not always an easy feat. In the effort to keep this as brief as possible, as we’ve been going on for an hour already, but to appease all curiosities and comments we at King’s Landing News have received regarding the election…”

She paused and gestured to her intern, who quickly reached into his bag and pulled something out, handing it to Missandei.

They were pictures, she realized, with a feeling of dread, a cold and heavy feeling weighing in her stomach even as she kept her expression neutral – even interested.

“Aside from pictures with your family and coworkers, these have been the only ones our own photographers have captured during the election,” she flipped the pictures over onto Margaery’s desk, laying them out for her.

It took everything inside of her to not react outwardly, even as her stomach clenched. It had been _weeks_ since she’d allowed herself to look at anything with herself and Sansa together.

The saving grace, however, was that the pictures were innocent – the two of them exiting Topped Off, the two of them walking down the sidewalk. And of course, the picture of them outside of her grandmother’s party, the picture that had been features in the newspaper already.

“It’s been no secret that your opponent has been making implications about you and the woman featured in the photos,” Missandei continued, with somewhat of a dismissive tone in her voice. “It’s been widely received by many following the debate that this is somewhat of a reach made by Ms. Lannister. But for our feature, I would love to have a definitive clarification.”

Margaery managed to tear her eyes off of the photographs, swallowing before she nodded and forced a smile, “Of course.” She took a deep breath, “Yes, the woman in the photos was a friend.”

Was. She had to snap her mouth shut in order to maintain her smile against the way that word and the pain that went with it made her want to grimace.

As much as she told herself not to, she couldn’t help but look down again. It was like she _craved_ seeing Sansa’s face, even though she knew it was stupid. Even know she knew it would hurt her.

She looked down anyway and could barely breathe.

The pictures were all at least a month old, now, and after a jarring moment, she realized that they felt like they were taunting her.

Because she wasn’t even staring at Sansa; she was staring at herself. At her own face, as she stood and walked alongside Sansa and there’s this _lightness_ there. A happiness that she was completely and utterly devoid of right now. That she desperately missed.

That she wanted back and wasn’t sure how to get to it, because…  

She wasn’t sure that she’d ever had that feeling before Sansa.

It was like the flip of a switch, just a _moment_ that hit her so fast and she couldn’t do anything but stare at the pictures. What if Sansa had been right?

What if they really hadn’t ever been just friends? What if it was true that this feeling of strictly friendship that Margaery wanted to desperately go back to wasn’t even real? That… Sansa had done _that_ to her, had somehow lit up something inside of her from the beginning and she hadn’t even realized it was happening.

It felt her heart was being squeezed so tightly, and she could barely keep up with her thoughts as they raced, her stomach turning so strongly she felt like she might be sick.

What if everything with Sansa had felt so new and different and _good_ right from the start because of the fact that they’d never been just friends?

Gods, before Sansa living like she had been, without that feeling of levity, it had been fine. Fine, because she hadn’t had any clue that she was missing anything. And now… now it was so fucking hard.

She never thought that she would be like this – could be feeling like this but –

_You could be that person_ , Sansa’s voice, insistent and so _believing_ in her rang in her ears.

The only thing that had gotten her through the last few weeks, aside from keeping as busy as possible, was by reassuring herself that pain didn’t last forever.

She was in pain now, and she knew that time healed all wounds. That one day, she would be able to look at pictures like these ones and not feel like her breath was stolen right from her chest.

But…

Gods, she wished she had a moment to process, because everything was happening so quickly, and she shook her head to try to clear it. So, this feeling of pain would pass one day and then, what?

She looked up and felt caught in Missandei’s slightly confused but expectant look.

This was a can of worms that had already been opened, she realized, as her heart thundered in her chest so hard she felt off-balance, as everything inside of her seemed to go numb and she could feel her hands shake as she clasped them in her lap. Cersei had opened this can of worms, and Margaery had made it easy for her to do so, but it was too late now.

Because it had been weeks, and she was still being asked about her and Sansa. Because her personal life was already a topic of interest, and she could only imagine that now that it already was, it still would be in the future.

Was she supposed to always be looking over her shoulder, wondering if her opponents or the media or anyone with a gods damn camera would be watching her, waiting for the next time she would slip up?

It was too late to follow her original plan, she realized with a terrifying certainty.

_I truly do admire you_ – how could Renly admire her, like this? When now… she was hiding? Before all of this, when her plan had been to wait at least ten years, and come out – simply, quietly, after being an established member of the high council, with a high approval rating, and already on track to be Prime Minister, it had seemed so right.

But that wasn’t the case, now.

“Actually,” she forced out, unable to maintain the smile that had been so easy to keep on her face, not when everything inside of her felt like it was trembling from all of these nerves and anxieties.

Missandei paused, lifting an eyebrow at her.

Margaery’s mouth went dry, her nervous system feeling like someone had hit the emergency brakes. The voice inside of her head that had always seemed to be the logical reasoning part of her was screaming in alarm about trying to continue to stay the course, to not say anything.

She always listened to that voice. To the voice telling her to make a quip, to go back, to quell this sense of panic.

“I wanted to take advantage of this full profile, with a journalist I trust, to say…”

The words caught in her throat.

_If there is anyone I’ve ever known in this game who I trust will know what to do when the time is right, it’s you_.

But she didn’t know – gods, how could she know for sure? Who knew that for sure?

The only thing she knew for sure right now, in this moment, though, with the evidence staring her in the face, was that things couldn’t always stay the way they were forever. And sometimes there was no going back, only forward.

_I can’t be your friend, because I’m in love with you._

It played on a loop in her head, mixing with her grandmother’s words, and she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t and maybe, maybe the most terrifying thing right now was that she could finally admit to herself that she didn’t want to stop it.

She stared back at the picture, her heart in her throat, barely able to catch a deep breath.

_I’m so in love with you_.

Margaery swallowed hard, forcing her spine up straight and clasping her hands together to make them stop shaking, “That I’m a lesbian.”

As the blood rushed in her ears, and Margaery felt like everything inside of her was imploding, the shutter of the camera stopped. The intern’s scribbling of notes paused.

And Missandei froze, staring at her with wide eyes.

She’d never known how saying those words would feel. She couldn’t have fathomed it in the least, and honestly… she hadn’t wanted to. But she hadn’t known it would feel like this.

This sheer, uncomfortable and uncharacteristic terror, gripping her, like she could see everything falling apart right before her eyes.

Then mixed with it, right under it, the tiniest kernel of relief. But relief in a way that she couldn’t handle right now, couldn’t experience, and she bit all of it back.

“You – you know we are on the record?” Missandei finally recovered a moment later.

“I know, yes,” her words came out on a whisper, before she cleared her throat. It was so dry, and she wished for a desperate moment that her grandmother had stayed there. As if she could draw strength from her.

Missandei quickly reached for her pen, her eyebrows coming together in question as she flipped back through her notes for a moment, “As far as I’m aware, there is one openly gay politician in the small council at the moment, and he didn’t come out until long after he’d been elected.”

“Yes,” gods, her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears, and it was all she could hear, “That’s entirely correct.”

He’d done the smart thing, and even so – his approval rating had gone down a bit.

Only going forward, she reminded herself, sitting up as straight as possible and staring Missandei in the eye, even though she wanted to curl in on herself for just a few moments.

“So… the woman in the pictures, is more than a friend, then? That inference is actually correct?” Missandei asked, and Margaery could hear the tinge of surprise in her voice. As though she couldn’t believe this actually happened.

Margaery couldn’t either, and in a way, she somewhat felt like this was an entirely surreal experience, as she shook her head, “She’s more than that. She’s…” swallowing hard, she dropped her eyes again, tracing them over the way Sansa was laughing so openly and boldly in those pictures, and the sight gave her the slightest comfort, something to hold into in this storm, “She’s so much more than that.”

Missandei watched her closely, “We’re ostensibly at the end of the campaign. Why come out now?”

And for a moment, all Margaery could do was stare at her. Why?

Because – because she was in love? Because she was miserable right now, and exhausted? Because after years of being just fine with her sexuality just being a quiet truth, it only now felt like she was keeping a secret? Because how could she accept someone like Renly saying he admired her, when she couldn’t admire herself?

“Because I owed it to myself,” she settled on, nodding slowly at them, when she realized – they were the truth.

She owed it to herself to win or… or lose, as her open and honest self. She owed it to herself to do this, even though it was terrifying and she may very well regret it.

And –

She owed it to herself to see what the big _deal_ about this was. To really understand the songs and the movies and the nonsense… to feel it with Sansa.

Margaery shook her head, quickly. Gods, Sansa had been brave weeks ago, had told her exactly what she wanted, had said she’d wanted Margaery, and she’d let her walk away.

Her breath was leaving her in shallower and shallower takes, and she squeezed her eyes closed before hurriedly reaching for her jacket, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think we’ve covered enough,” she managed to keep her voice as level as possible, far lighter than she felt, as she stood up, nodding at Missandei. “And if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I owe to someone else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know your thoughts and feelings! 
> 
> Thank everyone SO MUCH for the response to this fic so far :) It's honestly incredible and as we come nearing the end of the fic, I can't even begin to express my gratitude with how much of a response you've had so far!


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